


Coming Home

by Rubyhunny



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Jon is still dealing with the finale, Jon is stubborn, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Masturbation, Parent Sansa Stark, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Finale, Queen Sansa, Sansa and Harry are in the past, Sharing a Bed, Yara makes them do it, mentions of sansas past, now with an extra helping of angst, sansa is lonely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyhunny/pseuds/Rubyhunny
Summary: “Jon this isn’t so terrible,” Sansa says after a long silence, “I mean think about it.  You can come home.  You can leave the Watch for good.  You’ll be in Winterfell again.  I’ll give you whatever title you wish.  You could be a father to Lyarra, Robb, and Rickon.  I already have three children, two boys even so we will not need an heir.  We never have to touch each other.”Or when Sansa's husband is killed and her daughter held hostage Sansa thinks the past is repeating itself.  She has to stop it, to stop this from becoming another war.  She has to save her daughter and the only person she trusts is Jon, who takes up the cause wholeheartedly.  At least until he too is captured by the Ironborn.Now Sansa has to save her daughter, her kingdom, and her cousin.  So when Yara offers a deal to do just that Sansa takes it.  Even if that means marrying Jon Snow.Later, once they're stuck together, they're left to try and build a life and a love that can endure all the tests thrown at it.





	1. Jon I

Water drips over his head in the dark room. There is a bit of light coming under the door. It moves as the boat moves with the harsh waves, flickering up and down the wall. It takes some of the fear away while it adds to the misery and feeling of sickness in his stomach. 

Jon wiggles his body from side to side on the hard floor; flexing his fingers and trying to keep the blood moving in his hands tied in front of him without waking the little girl next to him. Lyarra is dead weight at side, snoring lightly the same way her mother does though they each deny doing such. 

Lyarra’s red hair tickles Jon’s nose but he does his best to keep quiet so their captors will not come in. 

They have not been treated terribly. Jon was punched a few times in the face and stomach and hit over the head, but it is nothing compared to what he has faced before. Lyarra, however, has nary a starch on her. 

It is about the only thing he is thankful for in this moment. 

Jon spares a thought to Sansa, his poor sister/cousin/Queen who had been so distraught when she had heard of the death of her husband and capture of her daughter that she had actually cried. Sansa has not cried in years, not since the birth of her children. 

She had cried great hiccupping sobs into Jon’s chest that night she received word while she begged and begged Jon to take her offer of a pardon and save her little girl from the same fate Sansa herself had faced as a little girl. 

Jon sighs as Lyarra stirs a bit and then settles back down. Jon will keep his promise. He will keep Lyarra safe from their Ironborn captors and he will ensure that she makes it safely home to her mother’s waiting arms. 

But he will not take a full pardon. 

He drifts in and out of consciousness though he does not know for how long. Days certainly, maybe weeks, it is possible it has even been a moon’s turn or more. Lyarra is bored and can only sleep so often so Jon comes up with games for her. He asks questions and quizzes her on her studies. Jon thinks Sansa would like that he keeps up her work on numbers and sums. But she is still a little girl, in a little body, who is used to having the run of a very large castle. 

She is not made for being kept in a small room on a ship that seems to travel endlessly. 

Their captors, who are most certainly serving under Yara Greyjoy, mostly leave them be though there is a young boy a few years older than Lyarra’s seven who brings them cards and game pieces. 

“Uncle Jon?” Lyarra asks quietly, she has been so quiet from the beginning that it worries Jon, “When’s mama coming?”

Jon smiles at the little girl, the very reflection of her Queen mother in both looks and temperament, and answers, “Soon sweet girl. It takes time for news to travel but your mama knows by now and I guarantee she has already called the rest of the banners and raised an army to come save us.”

Jon had only brought the men already at Winterfell and those within a three-day ride with him, meaning his forces only equaled 500 or so. Enough to beat the handful of Ironborn who had attacked White Harbor, killed the prince consort, and kidnapped the princess. It was thought that they only had 50 ships or so and very few men experienced in land warfare. 

His men had joined with the Manderly navy in what they thought would be a rough but short-lived battle. 

They were right, mostly. The Ironborn fleet was small and outnumbered even by the small army Jon had at his disposal and they had all but won. Until Yara Greyjoy herself knocked Jon over the head. 

He had woken next to his sobbing niece who thought he had died like her father. 

For that he did not think he could ever forgive the Greyjoy’s.

They are in the middle of a rousing battle of running in place until one of them drops, a game Lyarra loves so long as Jon adds monster noises to it, when the door opens and a young boy who Jon thinks is a Greyjoy cousin possibly named Edd walks in and says, “Lord Snow you are wanted above deck.”

Hope and fear war within him. This could mean Sansa has come but it also could mean that he is to be killed. And what will happen to Lyarra in the meantime?

He decides that she will need to come with him and reaches for her hand only for the sniveling man to hold up his own hand and say, “Not the girl, just you.”

Jon glances around hoping for some weapon he hasn’t already thought of to appear and nods. Fighting won’t help right now. Not when they have Lyarra. 

“Sweet girl, you wait right here okay. I’ll be back I promise,” Jon says looking her in the eye. She nods back solemnly, and he is again reminded that she is her mother’s daughter. 

The man pushes Jon through the ship until they reach a room with a closed door and armed guards standing outside. Stark guards. Through the door Jon can hear loud but civil voices. Including Sansa’s voice.

It is only then that Jon lets out the breath he has been holding for days. 

Lyarra is safe. 

The guard, a man named Domeric who leads Sansa’s Queensguard opens the door for him while the Greyjoy man pushes him through it. Inside is a small room, though large perhaps for a ship, and a single table. There is a window on the left wall that allows more light than Jon has seen in weeks into the room.

Surrounding the table are Yara, Sansa, two Greyjoy men, Sansa’s Hand Yohn Royce, and the Lord Commander of the Northern Army Wyman Holt. 

Sansa tries to smile at him when he walks in but it is forced. She looks happy to see him but shaken; though her daughter is still a hostage so that is expected. What is not expected is Yara’s crackle as she looks at the two of them.

Yara looks over to Jon and says, “It seems your sister really loves you. She has fought for your life twice now.”

Jon nods in Yara’s direction but keeps his eyes on Sansa who is going red in the face.

“Now I knew she loved you in King’s Landing when she not only fought for you but for your crown. Though even I underestimated just how much she loves you it seems.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and says, “Jon the only way Yara will let you and Lyarra leave without another battle is if we marry.”

“Hey now, I thought I got to tell him the good news!” Yara protests but takes in Jon’s stunned look and shrugs, “Oh well. I guess it didn’t take away from the effect.”

“Give us a few moments,” Sansa orders. Royce and Holt each nod and move to leave and Yara nods to her men as well.

“I guess I’ll let you plan the wedding then! It shall take place tomorrow before I let you leave,” Yara says before she leaves the room, followed by Sansa’s men. 

Sansa does not look at him as she walks over to the corner and pours two cups of ale, handing one to him when she finishes.

She gulps it down and pours another before pleading, “Please say something,” and taking a seat at the table again.

“I would but I think this is a fever dream,” Jon answers before drinking his own ale.

“I wish it were,” She responds solemnly.

“Why?” Is the only thing he can think to ask.

“Why what? Why did she ask? Why did I agree?” 

“Either, both, hell I have no idea,” Jon answers as he sits across from her.

“As for why she wants it, that makes sense. She knows I have given you a role in trade negotiations and put the Night’s Watch in charge of both the Wall and Moat Caitlin. You are, of course, in charge of the Night’s Watch. She is not an idiot. Yara knows that gives you leave to come and go to Winterfell as you please. That is not the punishment she had in mind for you,” Sansa explains.

“So, she’s doing this because I killed Dany ten years ago?” Jon asks.

“In part. Of course, the Ironborn have no love loss for the North and that is certainly a piece of it as well. Mostly though, she just hates House Stark and wants to shame us. She thinks that by making us marry it will at the least undermine my authority and make me look weak. Especially given that she killed my last husband. At most it will make the North rebel. She thinks it will remind our people that you are truly a Targaryen and that they will not want you as my husband. Plus, she knows we will never sleep together which means I will have no more children.”

Jon nods to her, takes another drink, and says, “Is she right?”

“About some of it. It will not bring shame. You are not my true brother and our people know it. They have for a long time. It is undermining my authority but not as much as she thinks. Our people will be upset at me being forced into anything, but they will appreciate not having to battle the Ironborn again and I can certainly spin it in our favor. The wonderful rulers who did so much to save their sons, at whatever cost to themselves. They will not rebel. She underestimates how much they love you.”

“Gods Sansa. What the hell?” Jon sits his cup down on the table and leans forward to rub his eyes.

“We can fight them,” Sansa speaks up, “If you want. Our army is twice the size of theirs, but we don’t have the ships and as prepared as we are for an invasion most of men have never been trained for sea battle. But we could if that is what you wish.”

“No. You’re right. It would take many Northern lives that do not have to be lost,” Jon concedes.

“Jon this isn’t so terrible,” Sansa says after a long silence, “I mean think about it. You can come home. You can leave the Watch for good. You’ll be in Winterfell again. I’ll give you whatever title you wish. You could be a father to Lyarra, Robb, and Rickon. I already have three children, two boys even so we will not need an heir. We never have to touch each other.”

There is certain note in her voice that Jon picks up on. Hope maybe. Jon knows that Sansa wants him back in Winterfell. She has tried many times over the past decade to pardon him or give him a place on her counsel which would keep him in Winterfell more permanently. He has always turned her down. He only took her up on her offer to put him in charge of land-based trade because she wanted to negotiate with the free folk and Jon felt responsible for that relationship. He had only taken her up on her offer to put the Watch in charge of fortifying Moat Caitlin because he wanted to make sure she was safe from the South. That it gave him leave to stop in Winterfell a few times a year was a bonus. Good, certainly, but not the purpose of which.

“Gods Sansa do you really want to marry me?” Jon asks tiredly, “I mean I am hardly the golden-haired prince you dreamed of,” He says trying to get a smile out of her.

She does grace him with a smirk before saying, “Father did not want me to marry Joffrey. He tried to talk me out of the betrothal, and he promised me that he would find me another man to marry. He wanted me to marry someone brave, gentle, and strong. I daresay you fit those requirements. Besides, had things gone differently, had you been raised as you should have been, we may have been married anyhow.”

“Are you sure? I mean Harry just died,” He tries again.

“Jon,” She gives him a look, “You know I cared for Harry as the father of my children, but I did not love him. He was a decent enough man, but he was also a cheater who as fathered three bastards, two during our marriage.”

Jon nods, “Alright then. I guess we are getting married.”


	2. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa drink and talk.

That night Sansa and Jon sit in a room Yara has given them. The room is nearly bare holding only one small bed. Hardly befitting their status as the Queen and soon to be Prince Consort of the North. Sansa knows that it is no doubt meant as an insult, but they’ve each had worse so neither will complain. Jon and Sansa sit atop the bed with Lyarra laying in between them.

The little girl had been overjoyed at seeing mother again and quickly succumbed to tears and then after a time, sleep, though she kept a hold of Sansa’s dress in the meantime. So, the adults let her rest, guarded by them at either side as they passed a flask of whiskey Jon had been given by Yohn Royce back and forth between them quietly.

This isn’t something they do often. As much as Sansa loves Jon and as overjoyed as she is to see him during each of his visits, they actually have little in the way of time alone together. In part because Jon takes an active role with his niece and nephews which requires much of his limited time in Winterfell but also because this has never been the relationship they have shared. 

They fight, they argue, they work together, and they love one another. But they do not spend evenings beside the fire sharing a drink and conversation. Things had been formal, polite, and quite frankly forced between them for too long and it was only with her children that they had started to find true comfort in one another again.

When Sansa was pregnant with Lyarra, her firstborn, she had refused confinement as there was far too much work to be done in their new kingdom. Harry tried to help but it really wasn’t in his nature and Sansa did not particularly like the idea of handing over the kingdom to a Valeman anyhow. Even if said Valeman was her husband. 

Harry pushed the issue a time or two. He did not want her, or the babe hurt. No matter what his issues Harry did love their children and he did hold genuine affection for Sansa. But Sansa did not relent and eventually Harry gave up and went on with his own activities. 

Then Jon had shown up. He usually only stayed a sennight when he visited Winterfell and at that point, before the children had softened things between them, he was unwaveringly formal and polite during that sennight. But this time, as Sansa stood in the courtyard waiting to greet him, he walked straight up to her and without even stopping to bow he looked at her and asked, “Why the hell are you out here?”

She had fought of course, argued with her cousin. She is Sansa Stark the Queen of the North after all. But Jon is also of Winterfell and just as stubborn as Sansa herself.

Honestly, though, it was nice. Harry always gave in far too easily to what Sansa wanted. Even when it meant risking herself and their babe. Jon, however, when she still refused to go into confinement, insisted on staying by her side at all times. No matter that she had a Queensguard whose very job that was. 

And he did. Jon stayed by her side for three weeks, his longest visit to Winterfell yet, until she went into labor. They had had a few moments then, tender moments, where Sansa shared the goings on of the kingdom and her fears and Jon had spoken softly of the Wall and how the Free Folk were faring now that spring had come.

When the pains hit, she and Jon were walking together. He took her too her room and sent the guard to fetch the maester. He stayed at her side. She thought, in that moment, of Cersei and how she had said that Jaime demanded entry into her birthing room. It was not quite the same though, while Jon held her tightly, he probably would have bolted had she let go of his hand for even a moment. Only she was far too scared to give up the only true family she had available to her. 

Jon was the first one to hold Lyarra – he handed her to Sansa while the midwife worked on the afterbirth – and he was there when Sansa realized she had had a daughter. 

Sansa had sobbed and sobbed. Jon and the midwife and the maester all panicked until she got herself under control enough to tell them she was fine physically and then when she was left in the room with just Jon and her babe Sansa told Jon the truth.

She did not want a daughter. Sansa already loved her but Lyarra had no brothers and a father who gave up too easily when faced with difficult times and people. 

Sansa knows, intimately, what happens to little girls who live without the protection of a father or a brother. Especially those who hold titles and have a claim to Winterfell. 

Jon, sweet Jon, had held her and her little girl and promised them both that Lyarra would never face the things Sansa and Arya did. Not because Jon would protect her, though he would certainly try, but because she had Sansa for a mother and Sansa had liberated the North from Southron rule and was the smartest of all the Starks.

She thought of that moment when that raven came with that stupid letter. It only made her cry harder. Sansa cried for many reasons that night, she cried because her children’s father is dead. She cried, because her husband had suffered the same fate her Lord Father did. Mostly though, she cried for her precious little girl who it seems is destinated to become her mother no matter how powerful or intelligent said mother is. 

The thing is that the North is ready for another war. Sansa has had the Army rebuilt. They are trained and well previsioned. Their numbers have rebounded slightly but the North remembers. They remember the entire generations they spent at war and they are all sick of it. They are missing an entire generation of boys as it is, and the fields are just now being tended at full force again.

Sansa knew when she read that letter that she had to do everything she could to save her daughter, but she also had to do everything she could to save her people the pain of more lost sons. So, when Yara offered her this deal – marry Jon and forgo another war – well she had to say yes. She really did not have a choice. 

The Iron Isles were part of the Six Kingdoms. War with them meant Bran would be honor bound to send the other armies of Westeros to fight the North as well. A war with the South could be disastrous for the Northern Kingdom no matter how well established they are. 

Sitting here, in a dark room aboard a ship in the Iron Fleet which had held her daughter and brother/cousin/fiancé hostage for the past moon, Sansa doesn’t even think it is all that bad of an idea. It may be the whiskey or the sound of the waves, but the North still loves Jon and he will not be all that bad of a husband. Unlike Tyrion and Harry, he will keep out of the beds of others. Unlike Ramsay he will keep his hands off of her. He will also be a much better co-ruler than Harry who had no head for politics and little mind for the details of ruling. 

Not to mention he will be far more help with the children than their own father who said their upbringing and discipline was Sansa’s responsibility as she had birthed them.

So yes, on paper this is a wonderful match. Practically speaking, however, Sansa knows there will be more problems than she anticipates. Still, there are no other options unless she wants to send her people into another war. 

“You know, don’t you, that I would save you from more punishment if I could?” Sansa asks in her quietest voice. 

Jon nearly jumps as she had not spoken in hours. 

“Is marrying you the punishment you speak of?” 

“Well marrying your sister to save our people from another war is hardly a reward Jon.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he takes a drink of the sour whiskey and then passes it back to her as he says, “Well I never expected to marry anyhow. Getting to come home to Winterfell and help with the children is not something I even dared dream about.”

“Jon,” Sansa pauses to gather her words, “I have offered you pardons before. I’ve offered you a place on my council that would have given you a permanent place in Winterfell. Why haven’t you taken any of the offers?”

She has never dared ask the question, mainly because she knows the answer is likely something to do with Dany and with Sansa’s betrayal.

He doesn’t answer for several moments; long enough that Sansa nearly gives up on the conversation. 

“After King’s Landing burned, I stood behind Dany while she spoke to her armies. She was speaking in another language, Dothraki I think, but she said Winterfell and they cheered. Later I talked to Tyrion and he told me that she planned to burn Winterfell, that was what she had said to them. The pieces started to fall together. All her comments about you fell into place. You were right Sansa. She was not a good ruler, and she was not a good person either. She was going to burn Winterfell and she was going to burn you and Arya. You asked me over and over again to listen to you, to respect your opinion but I didn’t. I deliberately ignored you and I think I even got so angry that you did not do as I said that I ignored what was going on in front of my face. A half million people died because of that Sansa.”

Jon stops to take the flask from her, and takes a drink before he continues, “At first I was angry with you. You did something you swore not to do. But you also tried to talk to me about it and what my secret meant, and I ignored you. I realized a few years later that you did what you had to, what you had to do to protect our people. The first time you offered a pardon I was still angry with you, but the second time I had just realized that you were a better ruler than me. You rule with your both your head and your heart. I did not know what I would do if I were pardoned but I was afraid it would affect your rule and I could not let that happen.”

“And the council posting?” Sansa asks after a long pause.

“Well, by that point you were married with three children and your husband had just had a child with another woman. I rather thought I might end up either executed or back at the wall for murder if I were living in the same castle as Harry.”

They both let out laughs even though it isn’t funny.

“Sansa, I know this isn’t what you want either. You’ve already been through three marriages to men that have not treated you the way you deserve. I would save you from this if I could,” Jon says as earnestly as a drunk man is able.

“I know that,” She whispers as she reaches over to grab his hand, resting their joined hands over Lyarra’s stomach as it rises and falls.

“I thought Harry would be your prince charming. That’s the only reason I gave you my blessing to wed him,” he says with a squeeze of her hand.

“Me too. I really did think I could love him. At least in the beginning. Now, though, I don’t know if I’m even capable of any other kind of love than what I feel for my family. Jon, that includes you. I know you wish that I could marry someone I am in love with, but I do love you and you are the best man I know. It may not be the most comfortable thing in the world, but it does not have to be horrible or the punishment that Yara thinks it is,” she responds while she moves her thumb to rub it over Jon’s cracked knuckles.

“I love you too Sansa. And I love your children. I promise you that I will the best husband you have ever had and that I’ll be a good father to your children. I’ll help you raise them to be true Starks.”

Their eyes rise slowly, and Sansa gives Jon a small smile that he returns shyly. 

The next morning, they are to wed and Sansa thinks that maybe this wedding, this marriage, will be different than the others.


	3. Jon II

Jon had never really expected to marry. He had wanted to, of course, a long time ago. Back when he dreamed of being the Lord of Winterfell and having a pretty feminine wife who ran the castle and gave him a son of his own blood; but those are the dreams of the past. Jon hasn’t wanted that in years and he is not sure he ever deserved it anyway; but even in those sinful guilt inducing daydreams Jon had never pictured his wedding day. 

Sansa did though. She dreamed of her wedding day often when they were children and she spent a good deal of time telling them all about what it would be like. Mostly they ignored her but every so often Jon and sometimes Robb would indulge her. She liked the idea of a big feast with a singer and lots of dancing. She would play the harp, and everyone would clap. She would wear a beautiful gown and her husband would give her a blue winter rose like the song said. Sometimes she thought she would marry in the Great Sept in King’s Landing and others she thought maybe the Godswood at Winterfell. 

Either way the day would be magical. The stuff dreams are made of.

Jon has not had the pleasure of attending a lot of weddings in his life. There had not been any at the wall and growing up in Winterfell Lady Stark had hosted a few wedding feasts, but it was not as though Jon was invited to any of them. 

Jon is sure that he would have been invited if any of his siblings had married at Winterfell, but Robb had married in the South and thus Jon was not able to attend. Poor Rickon would never marry. Bran likely would not marry either and even if he did Jon would never be allowed to attend the ceremony. If Arya ever marries there will be no feast unless Sansa forces the issue, but the point is probably moot anyhow.

And Sansa, his betrothed, well, Jon had not attended her first wedding to Lord Tyrion in King’s Landing and even though she had married Ramsay in Winterfell he had not attended that wedding either. He had not been invited as he would have killed her groom and stolen her away. He had attended her third wedding though. In fact, Jon believes it may be the only wedding he has been properly invited to in his life. 

Her wedding to Harry had hit some of those dream points but it happened at the beginning of spring when food was scarce, so the feast was small. There was dancing of course, but no singer as the roads were still too snowy to allow free travel and there was no harp as it had been destroyed during the war and they hadn’t had the resources to build a new one as of yet. She had worn a pretty gown and Harry had looked appreciative, but he had not graced her with a flower for her hair. Not even after Jon suggested he do so. 

Even as happy as Jon was for Sansa that day; he couldn’t help but wish she could have had her dream wedding feast. It seems like on the occasion of a Lady’s third wedding she could do as she pleased.

Still, even that had better fit Sansa’s dream than this farce Yara is placing them in. 

“You must let us wed in front of a heart tree. Both Jon and I keep the old gods,” Sansa states calmly to Yara who had wanted them to wed aboard the ship.

“Besides, it will take weeks to find a priest or priestess,” Jon adds.

Yara looks disgruntled and Jon thinks he knows why. To force them to wed aboard an Iron ship would be the ultimate insult. If they wed anywhere else Sansa can spin it to their people as though she had a choice. If they wed here no one can say Sansa wanted it.

Jon cannot give Sansa a wedding in the Great Sept and even giving her a wedding at the heart tree in Winterfell is likely out of the question, but he can save her from a forced wedding on the ship of their enemies. 

“We could marry at White Harbor,” Jon interrupts as Yara paces the room and Sansa sits calmly next to Jon watching, “Lord Manderly is camping on shore. He could send word to his wife to prepare. The castle is less than a day’s ride. She could prepare a small feast for either two or three days from now. It will take a while to prepare enough food for the army.”

Yara stops to think with a hand at her hip before she smiles and answers, “No. There will be no feast. You do not deserve one Queenslayer. But you will wed in White Harbor. Today. You will not send a raven ahead, rather you will show up unannounced. With any luck perhaps I can convince your bannermen you have already impregnated the Queen with your bastard.”

Jon knows she’s saying it to get a rise out of him. He did not flinch when she called him a Queenslayer and so now she is needling him; looking for a reaction. He turns to look at Sansa only to find that she shows no reaction to having her honor called into question.

She does, however, snort and respond, “I should like to see you try. Your lie would become rather obvious in a few months when my belly does not quicken. Besides, I have a well-deserved reputation among my bannermen for being quite frigid. Most of them seem to believe that bedding me would cause a man’s cock to fall off. That is the only reason they have tolerated Harry’s dishonor.”

She doesn’t look upset by her own words. If anything, Sansa looks rather amused by the idea even though it causes Jon’s fists to clench. Yara seems amused as well as she gives Sansa a smirk. Jon blanches though. He hates the way Harry treated Sansa, and he hates that Sansa’s reputation was the one to suffer for it even though she is the Queen.

“Oh, come now Queenslayer, you weren’t planning on fucking your pretty sister anyhow, right? So, I’m certain your cock is safe from the Queen’s frostbitten cunt,” Yara says with a nasty smile. Then she turns back to Sansa and says, “You know if you ever decide to try something new, I could help warm you up. It isn’t like you’re likely to get anything good out of this one anyhow.”

Sansa merely rolls her eyes, but Jon cannot help but give into the rage and slam his fists on the table in front of him.

“You will not speak of her that way!” 

Yara laughs and looks to Sansa to say, “Touchy, touchy. I guess the Queenslayer does not like me flirting with his Queen.”

“Shall we move on,” Sansa says with a roll of the eyes, “I should like to get this over with and get home to my other children within the next moon.”

“Yes fine,” Yara says with a smile that makes Jon want to go even further against his father’s teachings to hit a girl.

“Then it’s settled, we will get things together, go to shore to meet with the army and ride to White Harbor. Upon our arrival Jon and I shall wed.”

“I should like your army to stay behind. You may bring a guard of say 100 but the rest stay here. I will also send a guard. I know how little your word means Queenslayer,” Yara says, mainly to Jon.

Sansa reaches out to grab Jon’s hand in hers. She does not look at him but runs a thumb over his knuckles that does wonders at calming his nerves.

“Shall we get on with it then?”

“Mama, are you really gonna marry Uncle Jon?” Lyarra asks Sansa in the litter on their way to White Harbor.

“I sure am sweetling. Is that alright with you?” Sansa asks as she holds her daughter close. Jon has always been on the outside of these situations looking in. Even as a child he would be watching rather than participating so it is jarring when Sansa looks to Jon and nods her head to indicate he should move closer. When he does, she reaches out a hand to him and pulls him into their embrace.

It takes a moment for Jon to settle against the two of them. Sansa looks a bit awkward as well but Lyarra has no qualms and no issues getting into Jon’s personal space either. She leans into Jon even while her hands are held around Sansa’s waist. She looks to be thinking and then says, “Will he be home more now?”

“Yes, sweet girl. Your Uncle will be at Winterfell most of the time from on,” Sansa gives him a shy smile over Lyarra’s head.

“Will you teach me to ride? Before the boys? Father told Rickon he could learn first cause he’s the heir, but he said he wouldn’t teach me because I’m a girl.”

Jon gives the girl a smile. He’s always had a special connection with Lyarra, even before being held captive with her. He was the first to hold her after all. “Of course, I’ll teach you to ride. Just the two of us if you would like. Though you will have to share me with your brothers.”

She nods and then asks, “And you’ll make the boys bathe, right? Mama does when she has time, but Father never did, and they get stinky after they fight!”

Jon and Sansa both laugh at the way Lyarra puts her fingers over his nose and waves her hand back and forth and Sansa joins in to say, “They are true Northern boys. They love fighting and hate bathing. They rather remind me of you, Robb, and Theon.”

“We were never that bad!” Jon exclaims knowing full well he’s lying and then looks to Lyarra to say, “Yes sweet girl. I shall force your brothers into the bath.”

“Alright then. You have my blessing,” Lyarra says with smile and wave of her hand that has the both of them laughing again.

A few short hours later Jon finds himself standing before a heart tree. Sansa is at his side, Lyarra is with her as she is giving her mother away. 

The Iron born have allowed the time for them to change clothing though none of them have anything fancy with them. Sansa wears a grey woolen gown with a direwolf stitched on the front. Jon has merely changed into another black tunic and pair of breeches as that is all he really has. 

There are 250 or so people watching as they make their vows. Their guard, and the Iron born, as well as all the castle’s inhabitants. Lady Manderly looks to be having a stroke over it all even though Jon has witnessed both Sansa and her husband assuring her that everything is fine. 

After the short ceremony Jon kisses Sansa on the cheek, and then on a whim he glances around before picking up his new wife. 

“Jon what on earth are you doing?” Sansa laughs as Jon carries her into the keep.

“I am a Northern man. In the North husbands carry their new brides inside the keep,” he says with a smile. Lyarra follows behind them laughing and jumping around.

“Are you sure you can handle this? You are not as young as you once were,” Sansa challenges.

Jon pretends to drop her but catches her with a smile and they both laugh.

“Mama, it’s like a song!” Lyarra says brightly when Jon places her mother back on her feet.

“Life is not a song sweet girl. But we can find joy in it,” Sansa says to her daughter.

Lyarra doesn’t look as put out as Jon feels at those words. He’s heard them before of course. Sansa says them to her children from time to time. But Sansa deserves a life from a song, and she has received nothing but pain and now she is married to Jon of all people; her former brother, the last of a line of mad monarchs, a Queenslayer, and an oathbreaker.

But this is the situation they are in and Ned taught them all to make the best of their circumstances. Fight for what’s right no matter the situation. In this situation Jon is married to a woman who deserves better than the likes of him. He can’t give her much, but he can give her everything he has. He can be a better partner than Harry who liked to go on tours of the kingdom and return with bastard children. He can comfort her and protect her. He can be a father to her children. He can teach them to ride a horse. He can teach them to fight for their home. He can force the boys into the bath. 

As he stands in the yard next to his new bride and young daughter watching the Ironborn leave Jon promises himself that he really will be the best husband Sansa has ever had.

Now he just needs to find a blue winter rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having so much fun with this. Right now this is looking to be around 10 chapters and hopefully I will have the next one up Tuesday or Wednesday. You have no idea what your kudos and comments mean! Thanks so much for reading.


	4. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should call this "Jon and Sansa think and talk."

Sansa presses the rose Jon gave her in a book Lady Manderly has given her as a wedding gift. It is silly perhaps to do so but she has spent so much time telling her children to find joy where they can, and she feels something of a hypocrite if she does not follow her own direction. 

It was a very sweet gesture, the likes of which she has not received in many years. 

They decide to stay in White Harbor for a sennight only because Sansa feels badly for the position that she has put Lady Manderly in and thus wishes to show her the respect due. Being as there was not any notice given to the Lady of the castle there aren’t enough rooms ready to host the guard they have brought with them. Many of the men stay in tents outside the walls and a few are sent to tell the rest of the army to return to their homes with the thanks of their Queen.

Lyarra is put into the nursery with one of Lady Manderly’s nieces for the night though Sansa knows that after all she has been through her little girl will make it back to her mother before the night is through. Lyarra does not sleep with Sansa often. She did until her brothers were born but the boys are demanding, and she found that she did not like to be woken by their cries. However, after what her precious baby has been through this past moon Sansa expects she will have a bed companion for at least a while.

Though apparently she is to share her bed even if Lyarra is exhausted enough to stay where she is, in her own bed. 

It isn’t as though she and Jon have never shared a bed before, and she will certainly not make a fuss to the Manderly’s, who have already been so put out, just so she can have her own room. Besides it would be more unusual for a new bride and groom to sleep apart on their wedding night than for them to sleep together.

It is a delicate balance she and Jon are in with the bannermen. They already appear weak as they allowed themselves to be forced into a marriage rather than fight, no matter that it was the right decision nor that the decision not to fight saved Lyarra, Jon, and many other Northern lives.

They cannot show any more weakness. They must present a united front. There are not many in the North who dislike the Starks, or who are unhappy with her rule, but you cannot please everyone and there are a few who would see this as an opportunity. Just as the Boltons did during Robb’s war. It is not just the North they need to worry about either. While Bran has a decent hold on his kingdom there are those who would like to see the North brought back into the fold, including the Ironborn who are jealous of their independence. 

They must also not give the appearance of being in love or any such thing. No matter how unlikely it is that anyone would think such about them. Her last husband died only two moon turns ago and now she is married to someone else. That is the stuff of scandals and it is that which truly scares Sansa. 

The North will not rebel over Jon. They love Jon so much that they will still follow him into battle even if they are thrown off by his true father’s name. Yara’s plan could still work though. Not because of Jon or his southron blood but because their Queen is nothing more than a girl who has been married too many times to be considered honorable.

Jon walks into the room as she stands in front of the vanity taking off her jewelry. The pressed rose sits in a book on the tabletop staring back at her. He walks over to the bed to sit and begin taking his boots off when she startles and turns to him.

“Here let me help you,” she offers with a small smile that she hopes conveys exactly how grateful she is that he would do this for her; that he would marry her to save her daughter and her kingdom. For a moment he looks like he might stop her but then nods and leans back to allow her to work. 

“I suppose we shall have to get you a steward once we return home,” she says once she has removed his shoes.

“Are you saying that you will not be dressing and undressing me daily your grace? I do believe I have come into this marriage under false pretenses!” He exclaims with a smirk that forces her to give him a half-hearted smack to the arm, “and now you abuse me!”

“I am sure you will live,” she answers with a roll of her eyes. 

There is a look on his face which she can only call fond that has her backing away slowly. Not far enough to make him think her insulted but enough to get her away from this situation. 

“So, do you need help with your dress? I could call your maid, or I could, um,” he stammers out with a blush that has her smirking.

“Are you sure?”

He does not answer but gets up and goes to her back to begin untying her gown. She hopes that he knows how much she trusts him. Harry had never been allowed this privilege. He had never been allowed behind her. One of the worst parts of being Queen is that it customary for subjects to walk behind her and that it not something she tolerates well anymore. The only person allowed to do so regularly is her maid, a woman who poses little threat.

The fabric is too thick for her to feel his fingertips as he undresses her, but she does feel the heat from his body on her back and it makes her shiver just a bit. He works quickly and moves away once he has finished his job.

“You do realize that we will not alone tonight?” She asks as she moves behind the dressing screen to change.

“Why is that?” Jon asks from the other side, likely changing as well given the noises she hears.

“Lyarra will want to sleep with us. Be warned, she kicks very hard. If it bothers you I can take her back to the nursery or she can sleep on my other side.”

“Sansa,” Jon calls. Her name sounds strangled on his tongue.

“What?”

He does not answer and so she moves her head out to look at him. He’s sitting in nothing but his tunic on the bed wearing an odd look on his face.

“Firstly, I know your daughter. When I am in Winterfell I often wake to her in my bed. The boys too though I can rarely sleep through their sneaking,” he says with a laugh that has her joining in. “So I fully realize that she kicks and have bore the bruises to prove it. Secondly, I want you to know that I wasn’t kidding. I fully plan of being a part of their lives. If you wish for me to remain Uncle Jon I can do that but I do believe that one of the reasons you gave to sell me on our union was that I could be a father to your children and this is what a father does is it not?”

Sansa wonders if Jon ever slept in their father’s bed. She had, as had Robb and Arya when they were little. Mostly though she slept with her mother and try as she might she could not remember if she ever saw Jon coming out of father’s room.

“Honestly I don’t know. Our father did but Harry did not. Neither have any of the other fathers I have known,” she answers.

“Well I prefer the example of our father. He seems to have done a better job than any of the others you have known.”

She nods, moves behind the screen to quickly finish changing and then makes her way to sit next to Jon on the bed.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?”

“Is it not a bit late to ask that question?”

“It is just that being a father to children that are not your own is difficult. I sometimes have to remind myself how much my mother’s attitude hurt you when I am with Alys so that I remember not to take my hurt out on her,” she admits. Harry had never much cared whether Sansa was honest but she knows Jon does and so she will endeavor to give him the truth. No matter how difficult it is for her Sansa will be honest in this marriage. She will be a better wife to Jon than she was as a sister.

He doesn’t look at her and she knows he’s questioning everything. He is regretting marrying a woman so much like her mother. Any moment now he will get up and leave.

“First of all, it is an entirely different situation,” Jon’s words startle her, “I entered into this marriage fully aware that you have trueborn children with a former husband who is now dead. You did not betray me to conceive them. Harry did betray you though. He dishonored you and the result of that dishonor is a child that is not yours born long after you were wed. Secondly, Alys is not in your care. You are not her mother. She does not need you to be; she has a living mother who cares for her greatly. You legitimized her and allow her to live in Winterfell so she can grow up with her siblings. I have no doubt that as difficult as it would be you would take Alys in if she needed you to and you would be a mother to her if for no other reason than she is family to your children and you understand the importance of family.”

She is silent long enough that Jon takes her hand in his own. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles and warmth floods through her body. It feels odd to blush as it has been years since she has done so. It’s been so long since someone thought the best of her; not just because she is the Queen but because he knows her. 

“My point is that I am fully aware of what I am offering,” he says quietly and then he gets up, pulling her with him, and says, “Let’s go on to bed then. I believe you are right and Lyarra will end up in here soon.”

The rest of their week is spent socializing and doing business with the lesser nobles of White Harbor who Sansa has had Lord Manderly invite so she can hold petitions with them. They bring gifts with them of fabric and fur mostly. Along with a list of grievances and things they need from the crown.

By the time they are on the road back to Winterfell she feels every bit of the exhaustion she has been holding at bay for the past three moons since Lyarra left Winterfell in a litter next to her father. Sansa is exhausted to her very bones.

She knows that there is little to do for it except get home. She will not feel truly at ease until she is back inside Winterfell’s walls with all three of her children and her new husband. 

The journey from White Harbor to Winterfell takes every bit of 7 days normally and of course the litter slows them down and stretches it out to 10 days. 

Lyarra likes to be read to so Sansa often pulls out one of her new books to entertain her. Other times Sansa will pull out the new fabric and help her daughter with her stitches. She begins to put together a new wardrobe for Jon as he is no longer in the Night’s Watch and therefore needs more or any clothing that is not black.

She works some as well, writing letters to the nobles explaining the situation and inviting them to Winterfell in two moon turns to celebrate their union properly.

Jon doesn’t join them in the litter often. Mostly he rides along side them. He uses the time to give Lyarra a couple of riding lessons, but her daughter can only handle being horseback for so long. He hunts some as well once they have made camp for the night. Sansa rides at his side while Lyarra naps a few times and they trade quips and discuss business. Jon will have to go back to Castle Black at some point to settle matters with the Free Folk and possibly Moat Caitlin as well. Sansa asks him to wait a few moons until the people are more settled and he agrees as he not necessary to the daily running of either castle.

At night after they have made camp and eaten dinner Jon will play with Lyarra as she is the only child there. Sometimes they will leave Lyarra in the care of her guard or hand Lord Royce while she and Jon take a walk around the area. 

Then, after dark, the three of them share a tent. She and Jon sleep on either side of Lyarra and the only thing that could make it better is if the boys were with them and they were in Winterfell.

Approaching the gates of her home always makes her a little giddy. She is riding along side Jon while Lyarra sleeps in the litter when they first see Winterfell in the distance. Sansa has to stop for a moment to look at it. 

Sometimes it all seems so surreal. None of this should be hers. It should be Robb in her place. It should be Jon. 

At least she has fixed one of those. 

Sansa will not hand over her crown, but she can seek Jon’s advice. Perhaps she could even trust him enough to share the burden. But as quickly as the thought passes her head she waves it away. Jon has said several times that he does not want the crown and she will not force it on him any more than she forced it on Harry. 

She has done Jon enough harm for one lifetime.

The man in question rides up behind her and moves to her side. He gives her a smile and grabs her hand on which he places a small kiss and then blushes, looking as though he has surprised himself with his actions. 

“It always stuns me you know? Winterfell,” he says quietly.

“I built it once out of snow. When I was living in the Vale,” she has no idea why she has said that but in for a penny in for a pound, “it was all I really wanted for so long, you know? To come home. Now that I have it, I rather feel like I should never leave.”

“Aye, but we must from time to time.”

“I rather think I should like not to go beyond the gates for at least a year,” she declares.

“Once I get things settled, I think I shall join you.”

Sansa smiles at him and gives his hand a squeeze. 

“I think that is a wonderful idea.”


	5. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this but I am honestly not sure what it will take to get me there. The plot points needed to be laid out. 
> 
> I am leaving town for the weekend and so I may not get the next chapter posted until Tuesday.

Winterfell has received Jon in many different ways over the years. He has been a good for nothing bastard and the bane of Lady Stark’s existence. He has been its savior, he has been the King in the North, and he has been the Lord of the castle. He has been a traitor who gave it away. 

He has been met with nothing, and he has been met with the entirety of Wintertown. It has even held a feast or two in his name. Winterfell is both his home and a place he dreams of as well as a very complicated ideal that drowns him on occasion. 

For the past decade though he has been a respected member of an honorable order as well as the Queen’s beloved cousin. During that time he has come home on many occasions and each time he was met by Sansa and the children but few others. So to walk in and once more be met with all of the noblemen present as well as most of the staff is a bit overwhelming. It also reminds Jon of his guilt inducing dream to be the Lord of Winterfell. 

He had not really had time to enjoy it when he last held the title. He was so busy with the oncoming war and everything that had happened and was happening with Dany that Jon had not had more than a minute here and there to think, “I am the Lord of Winterfell. I am the King in the North.”

The happiness he feels in this moment brings with it a silent shame. It should be Robb riding through this gate being met by his people. 

It was never meant to be Jon. Jon is not even a Stark. Nor is he a northern bastard. No, he was sired by a southron king who betrayed his family and his kingdom.

He wonders if Sansa ever feels the same, like she is a pretender. Like she is playing a game and bidding her time until Robb comes home and takes his rightful place. He would be willing to wager that she does.

Rickon and Robb, Sansa’s four-year-old twin boys, break free of their nurse’s grasp to run towards them as soon as they see the litter enter through the gates. Jon exits first, then lifting a still sleepy Lyarra out and sitting her on the ground next to her brothers. Rickon hugs her tightly and starts to ask a million questions about the Ironborn and what it was like to aboard a ship.

Jon moves to help Sansa out of the litter and has barely let go of her hand before Robb has jumped into his mother’s arms. She takes the moment to hold her youngest close and he thinks he may even see her sniff her boy and laughs quietly when she wrinkles her nose at his stench. It seems Lyarra wasn’t exaggerating about their aversion to bathing.

Rickon grabs ahold of Jon and starts jabbering, “Uncle Jon! I missed you. Can you believe Nurse Wanda tried to get us to take a bath before Mama came home? Isn’t that crazy? We just took a bath a fortnight ago.”

Jon laughs and picks the boy up in his arms. Sansa is still holding his twin brother and Lyarra is safely encased between them, suddenly shy and almost hiding behind the two of them.

Jon wonders what sort of picture they make, the five of them. The royal family of the Northern Kingdom.

He doesn’t belong here but as Sansa says he may as well make the most of it. He will try to find joy where he is.

The crowd bows and Sansa nods, and tells them to, “rise.”

They are soon met by advisors, those who Sansa had left in charge in her absence. Maester Lorry begins to tell the Queen of the happenings of the castle only to be cut off with a small wave of the hand.

“You are new so I shall forgive you, but I typically do not like to be met with such when I enter the castle. I should like to spend the day settling back in with my family. I shall call for you once I am ready for your report. In the meantime, please see to it that the princess’s chambers are made up and that supper is brought to my solar for the five of us.”

Jon notes that she does not ask for her chambers to be made up. Nor does she direct them to make up one for him. He assumes that he will be staying in his usual room, but the Lord’s chambers are his by right and Sansa is one for appearances so he had assumed she would want him to take them. Perhaps he should ask at some point.

They retire to the solar that joins the Lord and Lady’s chambers. Robb and Rickon continue to speak, asking questions and generally allowing Jon to avoid the awkwardness that would surely reign without their presence. He sees Sansa give Lyarra a worried glance and Jon knows what he must do, what he now has the right to do.

“You know what I have been dreaming about for the past two moons while I was stuck on that ship? A dip in the hot springs. Boys would care to join me?”

Robb and Rickon jump at the chance, so excited that they don’t even realize that Jon stops to grab a bar of soap off of Sansa’s vanity. He smiles at the girls as the twins run ahead of him.

Once he sure the boys are squeaky clean and no longer smell like a stable Jon allows them to run into the castle in nothing but their breeches just like he and Robb used to do. 

That is part of what makes Winterfell so complicated for Jon. There are so many good memories here in the strong stone walls built by his ancestors. Playing with his siblings, running from Old Nan, training with Ser Rodrick, and sneaking snacks in the middle of the night are just a few of those in his mind and Jon finds new ones each time he turns a corner.

Those people don’t exist anymore though. The castle has a new steward and a new Maester. There is a new woman caring for the children and new children playing games based on battles Jon had actually fought in. The broken tower has been repaired and there are girls training in the courtyard.

It is a home that Jon wishes to never leave again, one that he never truly wanted to leave in the first place, while also being a place that confuses him and makes him feel as though he is on the outside looking in.

He is unsure of his place here even now. Sansa had said she would give him any title he wishes but he knows without saying that it does not include King. Not that Jon even wants to be the King because he doesn’t, and he wouldn’t deserve it anyway. Not after Kings Landing. Not after he killed his Queen and his kin without even a trial. Not after he showed himself for the true Targaryen he is rather than the Stark he has always wanted to be.

He tells himself that it will get better. This is only his first day back in the castle as permanent resident. Things will come together. He and Sansa will come up with a plan for his new role, whatever that role may be.

Does she wish for him to be like Harry? Her late husband had come and left as he wished. He had only paid a passing glance at his children and rarely spent time with them or instructed them. He had left the details of governance and parenting largely up to Sansa while he did as he pleased. No matter what or who that was or how it hurt his wife.

No, Jon knows that Sansa would not want him to be like Harry. She has already given him leave to be a better parent to her children. It does not escape him that she looks immensely grateful whenever he steps in to assist her with them. He wonders if she’s been doing it on her own all along or if it was a gradual thing.

The Queen had been so hurt, truly hurt, when Harry had brought Cissy and her daughter Alys to Winterfell that Jon had sensed it even moons later when he visited. While that sniveling idiot had been the only husband Sansa had chosen for herself and it would make sense that she would be more hurt by the infidelity of a chosen husband than that of a brother-turned-cousin who she had been forced to marry in the same vein as her first two marriages, Jon did not think she would appreciate being treated that way again. She deserves to be honored by her husband.

Alas, it does not truly matter. Jon would never dishonor his wife even if he never touched said wife. 

That much Jon knows to be true. Beyond that, however, Jon does not know what is expected of him. 

There is not much a chance to speak of it that night either as the children take all of their attention. Nor is there time to speak of it that night after they have put the children to bed for as soon as they get the three of them down Sansa is meeting with the Maester and the steward and preparing for the next day.

She does spare him a glance long enough to say, “I suppose you should sleep in your old chamber tonight. I’ll work on moving Harry’s things out of the Lord’s chamber in the morning. I apologize.” She gives him a small polite smile that he returns only because it would feel odd not to.

“Aye, that’s alright your grace. I shall see you in the morning then,” he responds. That is one question answered at least.

“Sleep well Jon.”

The next two weeks of their marriage show Jon that his life is not to change as much as he thought it might. Sansa had been telling the truth when she told him he could pick his own title, though he had not done so just yet. She had even taken it a step further and essentially allowed him to pick his own duties as well. 

Whereas before this mess, when Jon was a brother of the Night’s Watch, he was basically in charge of land-based trade, he is now truly in charge of land-based trade. When he was with the Watch that mostly meant overseeing the incoming shipments from the south, preferably without actually dealing with southerners, and with the Free Folk who are now technically part of the kingdom but have been given the same license for self-rule as Skagos and the mountain clans. 

Now Jon is charge of the same things only Sansa has added to his plate by having him deal with some domestic trade disputes between the Northerners as well. It is not impetrative that Jon spend a great deal of time in either Moat Caitlin or Castle Black as most of the important business can be handled by the Lord Commander’s of the respective castles but they do need an intermediary who keeps things consistent and it seems Jon can do most of that job from inside of Winterfell as it turns out. 

This means Jon has more free time than he has in years. So much that he scarcely knows what to do with it. He spends most of that time with the children. The children take most of his evenings as they have lessons in the morning but are free in the afternoon. Sansa often has meetings at the same time as their lessons, so he sees her some but not often. 

It is in the evenings that Jon feels the most hopeful. He cannot describe it really but there is something about taking a walk with Sansa and her children or playing some silly game with them while she works on the books, or even just eating supper together in the solar that makes Jon giddy. 

Well, not giddy per say, because Jon is a Northman and Northmen do not get giddy unless they are well and truly into their cups, but happy. He could see himself being content with his life in this state for a long while. 

But things are not perfect. Not that Jon thought they would be.

As time goes on his wife becomes more and more distant. She is unwaveringly polite, of course. She sees to it that he has everything he needs from soap to wood for the fire in his room and she makes sure that his favorite foods are served at least every few days. But they do not speak unless it is about business or the children. They rarely see one another without the presence of a child or a trusted advisor.

It is a bit maddening as Jon had found himself looking forward to spending time with her. They had not truly had the opportunity in years. 

So, when Sansa tells him over supper that the Lord’s chambers are ready for him he is both surprised and not. The rooms belong to her husband and Jon is married to her. The rooms belong to him by right and as proper as his wife is Sansa would never keep them from him. But she had also not been a hurry to have him moved in. 

Jon has long been aware that every move Sansa makes, every word that does and does not come out of her mouth means something. She rarely does anything without a reason.

If she really wanted Jon in the Lord’s chamber he would have been in them the first night, or perhaps the second. It had taken her nine days to prepare the rooms for him which likely meant that Sansa did not want Jon in her former husband’s rooms. 

She did not want him in her father’s rooms. 

For many years Jon has visited Winterfell, has visited his cousin and her children every chance that he has gotten. During every once one of those visits Sansa has put on a show for him. 

It isn’t overt and Jon isn’t even sure that it is only for his benefit. He figures that it may be part of a bigger show for the banners as well. It isn’t malicious either. It is meant to carefully keep private aspects of her and her life away from Jon. 

She is truly masterful at it too. Jon did not even realize what was going on until Lyarra was born and he stayed at her side for weeks. Even then he only realized because even she could not keep up with the charade for three straight weeks. 

Jon does not know the purpose of the charade. He’s never had the balls to confront her about it. He has had many thoughts over the years though. Some of those thoughts are more charitable than others. 

Sometimes Jon thinks that she is being manipulative. That she does not want Jon involved in her life or else wishes to use him for her own gain. Sometimes he thinks she is lonely and that she does not want him to realize how unhappy she truly is.

Mostly though, Jon thinks that there has simply been too much between them, too much hurt, too much pain, and too much humiliation for true trust to exist between them. He knows that there is not enough trust to make any of it better. He thinks that after all they have been through, they don’t like or trust one another the way they know they should, but they also cannot let go of one another. Sansa is all Jon has and Jon is all that is left from her life before all hell broke loose. 

So, as Jon moves his few meager things into his new room, only to find a new wardrobe laid out for him, he thinks that he will do as he has done for the past decade. He will not confront his wife about her actions but instead he will follow her direction. 

Jon will see to it that Sansa’s needs are met. He will not argue with her. He will be polite and supportive. He will give her advise without expecting her to take it.

He will not place any demands on her.


	6. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More talking. More thinking. I promise real plot is on the way.

“Supper will be here in a few moments,” Jon says, walking into her solar without knocking, a new habit of his. Her body jumps at the surprise noise and she knows that Jon takes it in because he takes everything in, but he does not say anything about it.

“That’s fine. I am nearly finished with the sums,” she answers as a feeling of exhaustion falls over her and without thinking she asks, “Would you mind looking them over? I believe I made a mistake somewhere and I cannot find it.”

He looks a bit startled at the question but walks over to her anyhow. She gets up from the desk to allow him a seat and room to work. He is still checking her numbers when the maid brings in her food some moments later.

“Have you eaten?” She asks while putting some rabbit on her plate, suddenly more hungry than she thought herself to be. 

“No. I’ll have something bought up later,” he says distractedly.

“That’s silly. Come eat with me,” she requests as she reaches for the beans. She and Jon have not shared a meal alone together in years as it is rare that the children are not nearby; but the children ate and went to sleep hours ago so now it is just them. Just Sansa and her husband Jon. What a weird thought.

“Give me a moment,” he answers while erasing something. 

“Did you find it?” She asks hopefully. She had been staring at that ledger for hours.

“Yes, you wrote a six instead of a nine. It’s fixed now,” he says simply as he walks over to the table and takes an awkward seat.

“Thank you,” she says while nearly giving in to her desire to close her eyes even though she hasn’t eaten enough. 

“I can do more if you need my help with anything else,” he says hesitantly as though she will be offended at his suggestion and throw him from her rooms. 

“What else would you like to take over?” She asks with a small wary smile. 

Sansa has resolved to allow Jon to choose his own duties because it only seems fair. She drug him into this position; a position that he doesn’t want to be in. It didn’t surprise her when he initially chose largely the same responsibilities he had before. He has been at the job for a long while and he knows it well. She has added to it in the same vein because the kingdom needs to see Jon. They need to see that he is okay, happy, and once again an authority figure. The people need to see Jon strengthening the kingdom. It will help them in the long term. 

She honestly did not think he would want to take anything else on. Harry certainly had not.

“Well I could take over the grain stores if you like. I know that is your least favorite task,” he suggests while she stands to serve him tea.

“That would be a huge help. I was also thinking you may take on overseeing the armies. Wyman has asked to return home. It seems his mother has taken ill,” she tries uncertainly, looking away as she retakes her seat. She does not want him to think he has to take on this task as it is a lot of work and Jon does not particularly enjoy fighting anymore. She only asks because he is best person she has available to do the job.

“Of course. He should go home,” Jon states and then says, “If you ever need me for anything else all you have to do is ask. I’m here to help you so you should let me.”

Sansa has had many husbands over the course of her life and other than perhaps Tyrion none of them had been in any way thoughtful towards her or respectful of her needs. Even Tyrion had mainly done so out of guilt. Maybe that is why it is so striking when Jon shows his thoughtfulness in such a way. As far as she knows he feels no guilt towards her. He has less than no reason to do so given the way she has betrayed him in the past, but he strives to help and support her anyway.

Several years ago, when Sansa received word that a handful of Valemen remained loyal to her and wanted to follow her North she was touched. It was also the answer to prayer that she was not even ready to ask yet. 

Sansa is a silly little girl who was named Queen only because she was lucky enough to be born a Stark and lacked any willing siblings. At some point she would have to marry. She had no heir. Bran was King in the south and if the North went to him their independence went with it. Arya was not even on the continent most of the time and would miserable in the role besides. Jon was stuck at the wall in exile and refused her offers of pardon. No one wanted to hand the North over to Sweet Robin, not even the Valemen. 

There was no one else. She needed a child.

She needed a Stark child.

There was a thought about having a bastard. She could legitimize her child with her name, it was not unheard of after all, and House Stark would be secure. In many ways it was the best option as any man she wed would want his children to have his name. 

Sansa wanted to be married though. She did not want to raise a child on her own. She wanted to fill Winterfell with Starks again. She wanted to have a family again.

Even if she could find a man who would allow his children to take her name, there was the small problem of title. Even if it was agreed that Sansa’s husband would not rule, she knew that there would be a time when something happened that reminded the banners that they chose to be ruled by a stupid little girl who had once dreamt of the south. They would demand she allow her husband’s help ruling and eventually she would lose her authority to someone without the name Stark. 

That was not something that could happen. Not because Sansa wanted to be Queen so damn much but because she had fought too long and too hard to put Winterfell and the North back in Stark hands only to hand it over to someone else without a fight.

Then there was the Vale. She knew that if she allowed them to move North, into some of their many empty holdfasts, then she needed a way to tie them to the crown. What better way than marrying one of them? It had the added advantage of making her husband someone the North would never truly follow. He would be one of them but not really. The banners would accept him and their union, but they would never want him to be king.

She met with a few eligible men who had followed her north and she not really liked any of them. One was arrogant. Another was far too meek for her. A handful of others were too interested in her title.

Then she met Harry. He was sweet and kind. He kissed her hand and escorted her to dinner every night. He tried to take liberties on occasion but also took no for an answer. He had sweet words and gentle hands. He even took care of his bastard son as if he were trueborn.

In many ways he was what she thought she wanted as a little girl. Her wedding to Harry Hardyng was the only wedding that she wanted, that she planned, and that made her nervous in a good way. 

Sansa knew going in that Harry had a son, Domeric Stone and while it made her slightly wary in some ways it helped. She gave Domeric the name Hardyng and promised him a holdfast when he came of age. It helped Harry accept that his trueborn children would not receive their father’s name. 

The saddest part was that for six years, right up until he had walked through the gates with a very pregnant Cissy at his side, Sansa had thought they were okay. They weren’t in love, but she thought that they were on their way to it. She thought they were happy.

Harry worried over Cissy in a way that he had never worried over Sansa; nay in a way she had never let him worry over her. For Sansa knew this was her fault. She was not a good wife. She fought him and argued with him. She gave their children her own name. She did not allow him to take his rights as often as he wished to. She focused more on her responsibility to the kingdom than to her responsibility as a wife. She did not let him care for her.

She was still a silly little girl who lived in a dream rather than the real world and now it had hurt not only her but her husband and her children as well.

After they finish their supper Sansa walks over to her desk and pulls out a dagger. Jon raises an eyebrow at her, but she does not say anything.

“Are you planning an assassination?” He asks her teasingly when she turns back to him. 

“No,” she huffs out with a laugh, “I had this made for Harry on our first anniversary.”

The dagger sits heavy in her hand and Jon sucks in an audible breath at her words. 

“He had quite a few swords and daggers you know? I had a dagger put aside for Lyarra and each of his longswords for Rickon and Robb. But this one I don’t know what to with. It is too big for me. What do you think?”

There is no real reason to ask Jon this question. In fact, she doesn’t know why she’s doing it except that she saw the dagger and felt the need to pick it up. To hold its weight in her hands. Harry had always carried it with him, a sign of his devotion to her she thought, but this time he had left it behind. Was it because he knew he wouldn’t be back or was he planning to dishonor her?

“You know,” Jon clears his throat, “maybe you could save it for Lyarra’s husband. That way a piece of him is always protecting her.”

She nearly laughs at the implication that her daughter would need a man to protect her. She is being trained in how to protect herself. The thought is a good one though.

“That is a good idea, Jon,” she admits to him with a small smile.

“I have those from time to time,” he jokes. 

When she had cleaned out Harry’s room a few days ago she had been wary. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what was in his room, half afraid he had evidence of another illegitimate child hidden there, but instead she had found a treasure trove of memories. The doublet he had worn at their wedding, the box he used to hide candy in for the children, and this dagger were among them. 

The children had been allowed to pick an item or two of his to keep for themselves. Sansa could not save her children the pain of losing their father too soon, but she can ensure they have something she does not – mementos. 

Sometimes she still dreams of the doll her father gave her in Kings Landing. It was a shame she had been forced to leave it behind. Now she had nothing of her father left. Her children would not know that pain.

“I know that you didn’t like him,” she starts as she takes her seat again, dagger still in hand, “but will you help me remind the children of him? I have lost so much of my memory of father and I was much older than any of them are now. I hate to think of them not knowing their father.”

He gives her a nod but doesn’t speak and she sits the dagger on the table in front of them.

“Do you remember when Bran brought home that kitten?” He asks with a rough sounding voice.

“He was what? Four or five?” 

“If even. Your mother screamed when she found it in the nursery.”

“And father ran in with Ice, wearing only his small clothes?” She giggled. It had been quite the sight. 

“I remembered that earlier today when I walked past the nursery. The nurse screamed, apparently one of the boys had found a spider and decided to play with it. I nearly ran inside in a similar manner. Though thankfully I was wearing a tunic.”

Sansa snorts at the thought before saying, “I could see that. You were always the most like him.”

A smile reaches his eyes at the compliment. 

“Thank you,” Jon says quietly a few long moments later, “for the new clothes.”

“It was nothing. I remember how quickly you changed out of black the last time, and I rather thought you would be eager to do so again.”

“Aye, it was a welcome change.”

“So, I suppose you have moved into your new chambers then?” It is an odd thought to have Jon in Harry’s old room but only unwelcome in that it means that Harry is dead, and their children will never truly know him. In the same way she will never truly know her parents; not the way she would have if they had lived to see her married.

“Aye. I moved everything earlier tonight,” he says with an odd look on his face and for the first time in years Sansa feels the need to explain herself.

“I’m sorry that it took so long to get them cleared out. I wanted to let the children pick mementos and that, as I’m sure you can imagine, took forever. It’s also a bit better this way. We need to be mindful of the Valemen. They know the nature of my marriage with Harry of course, it is difficult to miss with three of his illegitimate children running around the keep, but I do not want them to feel slighted. It was my marriage to him that solidified the alliance. We cannot afford another war.”

Jon gasps softly at her explanation. She rather hates this feeling of wanting to explain her actions and decisions to anyone, but she did promise herself she would be honest with Jon and it is important that he knows this. It is important that he understands the politics involved and the consequences of getting them wrong. 

“Of course.”

Even though she thinks of him as her husband she has not said anything about their marriage out loud. In part because of the politics but in part because it is awkward. Unfortunately, she cannot let awkwardness get in the way of running the kingdom. 

“Have you thought about your title yet?”

“What title would you give me?”

“Harry was Prince Consort. He did not request any others, but we are not limited to that,” she says just before a thought crosses her mind and forces her to suggest, “I could name you Lord of Winterfell.”

There is a look of guilt of his face that Sansa understands intimately so she continues, “It makes a great deal of sense really. I am both Queen and Lady of the castle. As my husband you are Lord here.”

Besides, she thinks, Robb is gone, and guilt left over from childhood should not guide their decisions anymore.

He stares at the stone wall behind her for several long moments during which she fights with herself not to fidget. She hasn’t had the impulse in years. What is it about Jon that brings it out in her?

“I never thought I would have that title. Now I’ve held it twice.”

“This time will be different,” she offers in the face of what she thinks is his guilt, “We aren’t at war and there isn’t an army of dead at our doorstep.”

“And there aren’t dragons flying overhead either.”

“Jon, we don’t have to,” she starts but is cut off.

“I want you to know that I see it now. I see how she manipulated me, and how she threatened you right in front of me. I’ve spent years dreaming about that mess; thinking about all the things I could have done differently. How did you know? How did you know what she was?”

It’s a question she has no idea of how to answer. Not because she doesn’t know but because the answer will upset him. She made a promise to be honest though and she intends to keep it.

“I spent many years in Kings Landing. I know that you don’t like politics and I don’t really either. When father was arrested, and I found myself in the middle of it I had to learn though. I learned very quickly that speaking out or else not showing proper deference would be well, painful doesn’t necessarily describe it. I had to do a great many things to stay alive. I had to say a great many lies.

“Ramsay was the same but worse. I had to watch every word because I never knew what would set him off. I had gotten tired of biting my tongue though and I thought that if I died then I wanted it to be as myself so sometimes I would say things I knew I shouldn’t, just to see how he would react. I have the scars to prove it.

“Littlefinger for all of his slime taught me a great deal. He liked to force people out of their comfort zone. He said that when you offer a person what they do not expect then you see their true colors. I knew that the dragon queen would be expecting a warm welcome, so I did everything correctly; but I needed to know how she reacted to being pushed. She reacted in the same way Joffrey did. She was reigned in of course. I was Lady of the castle and she understood that attacking me would not get her the adoration she wanted, and I was your family besides. She lusted for you and I believe she knew that I was your weakness. She thought that if she came after me, she would lose you.”

Jon does not speak for several minutes. Sansa pours herself a cup of lukewarm tea as she waits for him to gather his thoughts.

“That’s why I did it. In the end she was right. I killed her when she threatened you and Arya.”

“I know,” she says quietly because she does know that. She is Jon’s weakness and she has been since she ran into his arms at Castle Black. It is one of the many reasons she hasn’t panicked at the thought of being his wife.

She was never Harry’s weakness.

The thought does not allow her to stay in her seat, so she gets up and makes her way to the sofa in front of the fire. Jon follows a few moments later, groaning as he rests his body next to hers. He places his hand on top of hers until she intertwines her fingers with his own.

It’s nice. Peaceful in a way nothing has been in several years. 

Eventually Jon shifts around until they are nearly laying rather than sitting. He lets go of her hand in order to wrap his arm around her waist and her head comes to rest on his chest.

They cannot rest here long. They are much too old to be able to sleep in such a position without regretting it the next day so after a long moment of listening to Jon’s heartbeat she asks, “Will you stay with me tonight?”


	7. Jon IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I'm a little nervous about this one so let me know what you think please?
> 
> Also there are a few not so flattering mentions of Dany in this chapter. So be warned.

The first thing Jon notices as he wakes is that there is someone else in his bed. This in and of itself is not unheard of. It’s been years since he had a woman, but he and Sansa have slept together before, and each of the children find their way to him in the night on occasion as well. It is just that usually they happen at the same time and this time Jon is not being woken by a foot crashing into his ribs. 

No, it is Sansa. It is just he and Sansa in this bed. 

He has not shared a bed with his wife and only his wife in the entirety of their moon long marriage. Even on their wedding night Lyarra had ended up between them. But apparently the children were fine last night as none of them had come looking for their mother or stepfather. 

She had pulled her hair back into a braid before bed, but that braid is now laying atop his face. Sprawled out rather like the woman it is attached to. She is laying on her stomach, and her left half is on top of Jon. One arm is thrown over him while the other is hanging off the bed. Her face rests on his chest and one of her legs is between his but her hips are almost consciously turned at an angle so that they do not touch his cock. 

He is not especially comfortable as she breathes in his face, but he is unwilling to move before he is forced too. Over the past moon he has seen the way she works. She works hard and more often than not, long into the night. She sees to the children herself as often as is possible and takes petitions even on days when she has a million other things to see to. That is not to say she does not delegate, but Jon knows that she takes on far more than she should. As such he tells himself he can handle a minute or two of discomfort in order to allow her to sleep a while longer. 

She does not sleep enough anymore. 

Her snores sound in his ear pretty and delicate as he moves his arm to wrap around her and pull her closer to his body. The scene reminds him of a dream he had as a child. A wife in his arms, pretty and feminine. The thought occurs that he was dreaming of some incarnation of Sansa all along, but he quickly forces it away. He never lusted for her when she was thought to be his sister. 

Now, though, well Sansa is his wife. It is only right he wonder about what it would feel like to slide his hand over and cup her breast is it not?

He does not and will not do it of course. She had said herself that they will never touch one another in a sexual way. 

He is, however, more than allowed to enjoy the feel of his wife in his arms as she slumbers. 

Sansa sleeps until her maid, Mya, knocks on the door. She wakes in one fitful moment, jumping from sleep to wakefulness in a way that only a Queen or perhaps a mother can. Jon stays on his back while she yawns and moves to get out of bed without giving him any attention. Mya, however, looks startled at his presence. 

“I can come back your grace,” the middle-aged woman says with a small smirk. 

“Thank you, Mya. That would be helpful. Please return in ten minutes. That should give his Lord ample time to move to his own chambers,” his wife answers with a roll of her eyes. As soon as Mya bows and closes the door behind her Sansa sends a careless slap in his direction.

“Ow! What was that for?” He questions while he rubs his arm more for effect than because it actually hurts. 

“I don’t think it is possible for you to look any more smug; did you know that?” She says simply; however, she lays back down in his arms anyway. 

The thought crosses his mind that this should be awkward as he rubs her arm and she snuggles back into him, putting her nose in his neck. This is not something they have shared before and it feels very different from the type of intimacy they have known with one another in the past.

It isn’t awkward though. It is quite peaceful, and it has Jon wondering if maybe he could have this every night. Marriage is supposed to bring harmony and safety into the lives of those involved. He and Sansa do not have a true marriage but mayhaps they will be given this sort of harmony. It is not an unpleasant thought.

++

Sansa does not invite him back to her bed the next night nor the one after. Not that he had expected her to do so of course. They are married only in name and they each know that. 

He does wonder though if the reason she doesn’t ask for his company at night isn’t so much that she does not want him there but because of the rumors running about the castle. 

It seems that Mya is not very discreet, or else that someone else saw them, because everyone from the stable hands to visiting nobles seem to know that he and his wife stayed in the same bed for that one night with no children in between them. They also claim that the Queen was not in a rush to have Jon out of her room. 

He overhears this when walks through the corridor, which is also how he finds out that Harry had only stayed in Sansa’s rooms overnight a handful of times and that he had not done so in years. The servants also say that Sansa had not woken in Harry’s bed even once during their eight years of marriage. 

Jon knew their marriage was unhappy of course. He remembers the way Sansa would look at Harry; like she wanted to reach out to him but feared being rebuked. He knows about the cheating and the children, both the one her husband had come clean about on his own and the one she had had thrown in her face by a grieving woman with no where else to go. But, this, knowing that they had not shared intimacy makes him more sad than he thought it should.

He isn’t upset on Harry’s behalf obviously, but for Sansa who had so dreamed of marriage as a child. Now she is on her fourth marriage and not one of them anywhere close to what she had wanted or deserves.

Jon knows she still wants it too not because she told him so but because of the way she had smiled at him when she woke in his arms and because of the way she clung to his side that morning; like she wanted nothing more than to lay there together all day.

He considers flat out asking Sansa if he could stay in her room or perhaps if she would rather stay with him; however, he throws the notion out because he is sure her answer would be no. Even if she wanted to Jon is sure she would deny it. And he will not press the issue because he has promised himself that he will not pressure her. 

So he will simply have to wait her out. 

++

Sometimes Jon dreams of a world where Daenerys hadn’t used Drogon to murder a half million people. Perhaps even a world where is he not a Targaryen but Ned Stark’s son and he could be with her. In that world Jon imagines they are happy. She could rule the seven kingdoms and Jon could be a helper and an advisor but not the king. But he knows, has thought it out piece by piece, that what they would have had would not have been perfect. Dany was already a person who would burn others for defiance before she ever met Jon and that would not have changed if his secret hadn’t existed or hadn’t gotten out. 

Honestly, he thinks what they would have had is closer to what Sansa and Harry had than he is comfortable with. Dany would have run off about the kingdom while Jon stayed in the keep tending to the people. She most likely would have had other lovers though Jon certainly would not have. He would have been alone in the same way Sansa was; ruling alongside someone who likes the title and prestige more than the job and who does not do their part.

Other times, Jon dreams about Daenerys and her dragons. Mostly she comes to him in nightmares filled with smoke and soot and blood. She screams at her dragons who burn, and burn, and burn everything and everyone in their sight while Jon runs around trying to save those he can. They burn everything in their path. At the end of the path is usually either Sansa or Arya, but sometimes Bran, who she burns while he is forced to watch.

These nightmares do not come often anymore but when they do come, they are violent and leave him out of sorts.

He hasn’t had one in months, since before the Ironborn captured him, but he does tonight and that is how Jon finds himself making his way out of his room into their shared solar in the dark. When he walks into the room he notices a figure on the sofa. Sansa is wrapped in furs looking blankly into the fireplace. The fire itself is nearly burnt out, only putting out a bit of glow but not any heat. 

Without real thought his body moves towards the stack of wood in the corner and before he knows it, he is stoking the fire into a larger flame without saying a word to Sansa. 

When he turns around to face her, she is holding up the side of her furs for him, so he moves to accept the invitation. Once he is under the furs she cuddles into his side and rests her head on his shoulder. She puts her hand on his chest and asks softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His first instinct is to say no. It’s been a decade and he has only talked about what happened in Kings Landing a handful of times; mostly to Arya though he and Sansa have spoken of it as well. But if he cannot talk to his new wife about this then who can he speak to about it?

“I dreamt Cersei kidnapped you and took you to Kings Landing so you were there when the dragon queen burned it. I watched you die,” his voice cracks when he explains the dream.

“Oh Jon,” Sansa exclaims sadly, “It is just a dream. It cannot hurt you, nor can it hurt me. We lived through it.”

As she speaks Sansa maneuvers them into a new position. This time he rests in her arms. His head falls on her chest almost using her breast as a pillow and her chin sits atop his head. Her arms hold him to her, rubbing up and down while she makes soft soothing noises. 

Jon has never been comforted like this. This is not the way a man would comfort anyone be it a friend or a son. This is the manner in which a woman comforts someone she loves and none of the women in his life had ever done so for him. Lady Catelyn had stayed by his side when he had a fever as a small child, but she had never held him. He had no mother. Arya in addition to being his younger sister would not have comforted anyone in such a way, no matter what had happened or who it was. The thought of Ygritte or Dany holding him like this and telling him that it is okay to be weak every once in a while is utterly ridiculous. 

He settles into her side letting her hold him as tightly as she can manage and resolves to take every bit of comfort she offers. It’s selfish of course but it feels too damn good to care. 

“Were you really in love with the dragon queen?” Sansa asks softly several minutes later while she still holds him. 

“No,” he answers simply before sighing and continuing, “I wanted to be and maybe eventually I would have. Mostly I suppose I lusted for her.”

Sansa stiffens against him before seeming to pull herself under control and says, “I suppose she was a beautiful woman.”

“Aye,” he answers because he will not lie to her, “And she was fierce as well. She argued with me something terrible and at first I hated it but eventually it started to be kind of fun I guess. I’ve always liked women who are passionate and not afraid to fight for what they want.”

“Have you ever loved anyone other than her?” She asks with a small voice.

“There was a wildling woman named Ygritte. I had been sent north of Wall to find out what was happening. We had had conflicting reports you see. I had to pretend to be a deserter who wanted to live with the Free Folk and in order to convince them that I had really left the watch I romanced her and eventually I loved her.”

“What was she like?”

“Fierce. Strong. Passionate. She liked to argue with me and prove herself more clever than I,” he answers easily.

“I’m not passionate,” Sansa responds simply. 

“What?” Jon asks, confused at the turn the conversation has taken.

“The people say my heart is made of ice. They say that I am the physical embodiment of winter. Cold and calculating. They say that is why no one can love me.”

Those soft words send a shock through Jon’s chest that makes him sit up. Once he turns to his wife she moves away quickly, turning her face away from him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He demands as he reaches over to put his hand on her face. He turns her until he can see the tears running down her cheeks. They keep coming but she makes no sound to accompany them.

“It’s nothing Jon,” she chokes out.

“No,” he states, “Who the hell said that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she answers while wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“It sure as shit does matter. No one is allowed to speak of you that way!”

“Oh please, I can hardly execute every person who has a negative thought about me,” she reasons.

“No but I can punch them all for you,” he responds just as reasonably.

“You cannot go about punching people for speaking the truth,” she says breaking his heart into tiny pieces and then turning her face away from him as far as she can while his hand remains unmoving on her left cheek.

“Look at me,” he asks, and once she has turned back to him, he says, “You are one of the most passionate people I have ever known. If it weren’t for your passion we wouldn’t have Winterfell right now and the North certainly wouldn’t be free. If it weren’t for your passion once you got to Castle Black we would have left, gone to Dorne or Essos and lived the rest of our lives alone without knowing what became of Arya or Rickon or Bran. Your people follow you because of your passion Sansa.”

“No. Our people follow me because their king left them, and I was the only other option,” she says with downcast eyes.

Jon closes his own eyes while he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You cannot honestly believe that. Please tell me you don’t really believe that,” he implores.

“Why should I not believe the truth?” She asks simply but still unwilling to look him in the eye.

“Sansa you are a better ruler than I ever was. You got our people through winter. You made sure they were warm. You got them their independence and have kept them out of war for a decade. I could not have done that. I made my peace a long time ago with the fact that the North needs you far more than it needs me.”

His wife’s eyes look up at him finally through her tears and he can’t help but rub his thumb over her cheek again.

“And this bullshit about you being cold is ridiculous. How could anyone raise children like Rickon and Robb and Lyarra without being passionate?”

She smiles a bit at his argument but then shakes her head and says, “Jon it’s true. I am cold. I know because Harry used to tell me all the time and if a man I was married to for eight years says it I should probably believe it.”

“Your late husband was a fucking idiot!” Jon exclaims and then his right hand joins his left on Sansa face, and he pulls her to him. Her lips meet his harshly. She opens her mouth quickly taking his tongue in and sucking on it lightly. Their noses crush into one another, but they don’t stop. Sansa puts her hands on top of his and slides them down until his right hand is on her hip and his left hand is on her waist. 

After a few moments Jon applies a small amount of pressure to let her know he wants her to move and then she is throwing a leg over his lap and straddling him. She rests her arse on his thighs and he rubs up and down her sides. When she finally pulls back and looks him in the eye he smiles.

“See we couldn’t do that without some passion,” he says with a smile.

She seems to take a moment to think before she stands and holds out a hand to him.

“Come on then. Let’s go to bed.”


	8. Sansa IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I have a lot of angsty Sansa feels that I need to work out...

Sansa has no idea what she is doing as she leads Jon to her chamber, and she doesn’t gain any confidence as they approach her bed. 

She’s never thought of Jon sexually but to be fair its been years since she thought of anyone sexually, and even then it was more because she did not know what sex was, other than a way to make babes, and one of her duties as a wife. She knows that what she went through with Ramsey was not normal, but she thinks what she had with Harry was and it had not been inspiring. 

It was just another chore. Just another way she failed him as a wife.

Here with Jon though she feels like she’s on fire. There are chills rolling through her body and she’s hyperaware of every move he makes, and every glance he gives her. His hand is sharing sweat with hers and his eyes keep dipping down to her breasts. 

And she still has no idea what to do. 

Cersei had told her once that the most powerful weapon a woman has is what lays between her legs but in Sansa’s experience she’s never been less powerful than she is during intercourse. The thing is, that right now, given all that had happened recently, she isn’t sure she wants to give away her power. 

As they reach the bed she stops and looks over to Jon. She doesn’t think he will be upset about her not wanting to keep going but one can never be to careful when it comes to the sexual appetites of men. 

He must sense something in her because he stops and moves his other hand to her hair and leans in to kiss her again. When they have finished, he says, “Let’s just go to bed tonight. Is that alright? We have time; we can work up to this.”

His statement evokes two very different emotions. Relief, that he isn’t upset about not being able to take his marital rights, and disappointment, because this means he will go back to his room and leave her here alone with her nothing but her thoughts for company.

“Oh. Okay. Then I guess you should get back to bed then?” She asks quietly.

“Do you want me to go back to my own bed? I had rather thought I would stay here with you,” he responds with those damnable eyes that see everything.

“But we aren’t…” she trails off, confused. Harry had only stayed in her bed after he had taken his rights and while she and Jon have shared a bed without having intercourse before, on the vast majority of those occasions there had been a child with them. They certainly hadn’t slept in the same bed after she chickened out of doing her wifely duty.

“Sansa, sleeping in the same bed doesn’t mean anything has to happen,” he says exhaustedly, and she nods because she doesn’t want to take the chance on upsetting him again. 

Once they are laying down under the furs with a respectable distance between them Jon rolls his eyes and says, “Come here. I should like to hold my wife.”

She moves to him quickly, having disappointed her husband more than enough for one night. Being in his arms feels good; she feels safe and taken care of. She’s nearly asleep when the thought occurs to her and so wrung out, she speaks without thinking, “Will you find someone else?”

“Sansa I am too tired to figure out your meaning. Will I find someone else to do what?” He all but sighs out, clearly half asleep.

“To take care of your needs,” she answers softly.

His eyes open as he moves himself to look at her face and he responds, “I will never dishonor you.”

He sounds so full of conviction, but Sansa knows the nature of men. She feels desperate in her chest, in her bones, and in her soul. She cannot have another husband cheat on her the way Harry did. 

“You can use my mouth if you want,” she blurts and at his confused look she continues, “I can’t let you near my ass. Ramsey messed it up too badly, and Harry always said my cunt was too dry but I’m good with my mouth and I’ll even swallow if you want me to. I’ll do it whenever you want. Just please don’t find someone else. I don’t think I could handle that. I know I’m not who you want, and I probably disgust you, but I couldn’t handle you leaving me too.”

A look of pure shock crosses Jon’s face and she knows she has said too much. He may be a man, but Jon is the only man she has believed in since watching her father’s head roll down the street in Kings Landing, and she had desperately not wanted him to know exactly how fucked up she is. She had been hiding it from him for years and now she just gives it away…

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jon mutters to himself, “But you need to hear this. The last woman I had was Daenerys. If I can make it ten years without finding someone else, well then, I could probably make it the rest of my life if I needed to. I certainly don’t need my Queenly wife getting on her knees for me every night. We never have to do anything if you don’t want to. You said that when you proposed to me remember? Don’t feel like you owe me anything. You saved my life; more than once Sansa, you saved me, and you brought me home and saved your daughter in the process when no one, not even me could do so. I have told you before, but I will say it again. I will not dishonor you. Even if we never make love.”

She gulps and nods in response, utterly speechless at his exasperated monologue. 

“And for the record your cunt wouldn’t have been too dry if he had done his gods be damned job and cared about more than his own pleasure.”

Sansa snorts and Jon looks at her in amused bewilderment, asking, “Did I just hear a snort from the Queen?”

“You must certainly did not. You must be so tired you’re hearing things,” she replies innocently.

“Ah. Of course,” he smiles and nods in her direction. 

His arm is still around her and so she decides to be braver than she feels. She moves closer, snuggles into his side, and reaches her arm up to push his hair behind his ear. She watches him closely as she so and is relieved to see nothing but his soft smile. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but she’ll never know what as there is a soft knock at the door. It then opens and they find themselves with a crying Lyarra running into the room. 

She doesn’t even pause when she sees Jon, rather she makes a running jump into the bed and crawls in between them.

“Mama, can I sleep here?” She asks innocently, as though she hadn’t nearly knocked her stepfather out of the bed.

Sansa looks over to Jon, who had just been pushed so roughly away from her and sees the smile on his face. It’s soft and sweet, the same smile her lord father had given her and Arya as children.

“Of course, sweetling. Did you have a bad dream?” She asks while refocusing on her daughter and putting her own problems to the side.

Lyarra does not answer but nods sniffly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She tries. 

Her daughter chances a look to Jon that she knows her husband is aware of and says, “no.”

“You know I had a bad dream tonight too. I came in to sleep with your mama so I could feel better and talking about it helped,” Jon says before he rolls his body on to its side so he can throw his arm over the both of them.

“But Rickon said only babies talk about their bad dreams and need mama in the middle of the night!” She protests.

“Ly, each of your brothers end up in my bed at least once a week. Rickon especially. He probably said that so he wouldn’t be embarrassed if you both came in here at the same time,” Sansa explains.

Lyarra looks skeptical and so Jon tries, “you know, talking to your mama about bad dreams is what she’s here for. No matter how old you are.”

The little girl seems more amenable now that Jon is encouraging her and thusly begins speaking, “I dreamed about papa. The stinky lady told me to look away, but I couldn’t. There was a lot of blood. Then they put me in this room on a ship. I cried and cried, and I tried to fight them mama! I swear I did! Like you told me, but they were a lot bigger and I didn’t have my dagger. I thought I would be there forever and then they brought you in Uncle Jon and I thought you were dead like papa.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Jon says sadly, “I hate that you had to see that. But you should not have to worry about fighting. You have me and your mama to do that for you.”

Sansa knows he’s trying and that she has put way too much on him tonight anyhow, and so she bites back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue and instead says, “Sweetling you are a Stark and Starks fight for what we believe in. We believe in family and honor. That’s how I know you tried to fight them. But there is no shame in not fighting a battle you know cannot win. Sometimes your mind works better than a sword. You used your mind to fight when you knew you couldn’t win with physical strength, so you waited for reinforcements. That was the right thing to do.”

“Your mama is right sweet girl. You didn’t do anything wrong. And yes, your papa did die but I didn’t, and you don’t have to worry about that for a long time.”

Again, she bites back her retort, this time that he cannot promise a child he will not die. This world is too unpredictable to make that promise. Instead she rubs Lyarra’s back and snuggles into the two of them.

“You’re safe. You’re both safe,” Jon whispers to them though he looks troubled. 

++

When she wakes the next morning there is a foot in her face and a toe far too close to her nostril. She jerks away from it before realizing that at her back is another foot. Lyarra is still curled up with her mother and Jon has turned to his stomach but still has an arm thrown over her and Lyarra so that must mean the boys made their way into her bed as well.

After chancing a look around she realizes that she was correct. Both boys are in the bed. Rickon is laying with his head on her knee and one foot near her face while the other is at her back. Robb is at Jon’s back, half hanging off the bed and snoring loudly enough that she thinks it was what woke her.

What an image they must make. 

Jon reaches out behind him to pull Robb closer before he even opens his eyes and says, “This happen often?”

“Not as much anymore but at least once a week,” she answers. 

“If that’s the case I think we need a bigger bed,” he says, startling her. He means to sleep here more often?

“Or else we need to send them back to their own beds like the nurse keeps telling me I should,” she offers as an alternative.

“Robb slept with your mother until he was 8. You and Arya slept with both your mother and father until you were 9. Bran still slept in their bed on occasion at 8 as well. If they want or need to sleep here on occasion, I am certainly not throwing them out,” he says with a roll of his eyes, thereby confirming his intention.

“I feel the same,” she agrees, “that is why I have not taken the nurse’s advice.” 

“Does she really have a dagger?” He asks out of the blue.

“Yes,” Sansa answers, “she should be able to defend herself. Just because she is a girl does not mean she should be defenseless.”

“And is she being trained in the correct way to use it?” He presses.

“Wyman taught her some before he left,” she explains.

“Well then as the new Lord Commander of your armies I suppose I should begin teaching her soon.”

“You aren’t going to chastise me for giving my daughter a blade?” She asks incredulously.

“Why would I? I gave Arya her first blade. Your lady mother fought off an assassin sent to kill Bran because she was able to weld a blade herself. I know the power of a woman. Hell, it was my idea to send women into battle if you remember.”

She blushes in embarrassment. She had forgotten that.

“So, you think it’s a good idea then?” She asks, trying to keep the hope out of her face.

“Do you want to learn with her?” He asks instead of answering. She wonders how deep he can see into her mind if he’s asking this question.

“You would teach me?” That is the last thing she is expecting from him. 

“You’re right. Everyone should know how to defend themselves and while I will always try to protect you, I cannot promise I will always be successful or nearby,” he explains.

She wonders how much it hurt him to say that. It goes so against everything he believes. 

“Alright then,” she agrees, “I’ll add it to my schedule.”

Jon nods and then wiggles a bit, presumably trying to get the foot out of his back.

“I assume there aren’t any bigger beds in the castle?” He asks with a groan.

“No. This is the biggest,” she answers giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Well then I guess I’ll have to speak to the carpenters. Do you have any requests?”

“Just that it be big enough that Rickon’s toe doesn’t end up in my mouth,” she jokes, but not really.

When Mya knocks a few minutes later she enters to find three sleeping children and two laughing adults. 

++

Mya Stone is in many ways Sansa’s best friend. They had met in the Vale briefly but reconnected when Mya came north with Harry. Letting Mya and her son Domeric live in Winterfell was part of her marriage contract with her third husband, and sometimes she thinks it may have been the best part of it; other than allowing her children to be named Stark. 

Mya Stone is the daughter of a king who never acknowledged her. King Robert had hurt her deeply, but she endured. She knows everything about Sansa and about Harry and she has always has gossip to share. 

Sansa isn’t stupid enough to think Mya doesn’t gossip about her, but she is loyal in a way few are. Sansa gave Mya’s son a family name and legitimacy and she hasn’t forgotten about that. She knows that it is because of Sansa that her little boy will be named Lord Hardyng, the lord of his own keep once he is of age. Harry never would have provided such. 

She is the one who told Sansa what Lord Glover had said even while assuring her that it wasn’t true. That’s who Mya is. She honest but compassionate and Sansa often doesn’t know what she would do without the woman.

It isn’t often that Sansa confides in anyone. Not even Mya. But Mya is the only person with enough gumption to flat out ask questions about her private life. Though even she will not argue with her Queen. 

So, when she walks into Jon in Sansa’s bed for the second time in four days she certainly has questions. Even if the children were present this time. 

“Is he any better in bed than Harry?” Is, of course, where she starts while working oil into Sansa’s hair.

“I wouldn’t know,” she says with a laugh.

“Your grace, Jon is your husband. There is nothing wrong with wanting him,” she reasons while beginning to braid Sansa’s hair.

“He was my brother,” she points out, leaning back in the chair as much as possible.

“You’ve known he isn’t for ten years. You both embraced his heritage,” Mya reasons with a kind smile.

“I’ve never thought about him sexually before,” she admits. She thinks she might blush while she says it.

“So start. Go in a room, close the door and think about the man,” Mya instructs.

“You sound like Myranda,” Sansa points out. Myranda, of course, being Lord Royce’s niece who spends a great deal of time at Winterfell.

“Well Myranda isn’t always wrong,” Mya jokes.

“Isn’t it disrespectful to Harry’s memory?” She asks more somberly.

Mya does stop at that one. They each had complaints about the man, but they also had children with him and would always hold at least a modicum of affection towards him for it. Mya is perhaps the only person in the world who understands how hard it is, how conflicting it is, to love someone you also hate. 

“Harry did care about you. He wasn’t a good husband to you, but he loved his children and he loved their mothers. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy any longer than you needed to be, and he certainly would have wanted to know the children were being cared for,” she says with a look of sincerity. 

“I suppose you have the right of it,” she permits.

“Jon is good for the children and it is not a crime to allow happiness into your life,” she tells Sansa while wrapping her hair into a northern style.

“Yet I’ve been saying the same thing to you for years and here you are,” Sansa points out. 

“My son needs to be here with his siblings. I’ll not leave until he is to move to his own keep,” she says like always.

“Any ideas about who is spreading the rumors?” Sansa changes the subject.

“Not really. Manderly is the loudest but he doesn’t think badly of you. He seems happy to see you and Jon together. Glover is nowhere near as loud, but he seems to have something to say and it isn’t flattering towards your grace.”

Sansa nods. You would think that after receiving her generosity and being allowed to stay in their ancestral home after their betrayal that the Glovers would be more grateful to their Queen. 

“And how far have the rumors gone?” She asks while Mya finishes her hair.

“I do believe the Ironborn have heard them if that’s what you want to know,” she offers with a displeased smile.

“That’s all we need. Yara Greyjoy starting a war because she feels slighted again.”

“Your grace, if I may make a suggestion, you need to speak to your husband about this. If nothing else, he is the Lord Commander of the armies. He should know how far it has gotten.”

“You’re right. I shall speak to him. Keep trying to figure out who started the rumor please. I wish to know.”


	9. Jon V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long this week was my birthday and so I got sidetracked with friends and family. Also, this chapter is a bit more lighthearted than the last two.

Jon does not always attend petitions. He had the fortnight after they had returned to Winterfell but only because Sansa insisted that it was important to present a united front and to show their people that Jon was her partner. She had a similar philosophy about parenting. He could see the point of it all and he knew that at least in part it was so people could see him standing at her side while she ruled. 

Perhaps the thought should upset him, he is the husband in this scenario after all and rarely does a woman rule while her husband is alive and able but Sansa is the Stark in Winterfell and Jon had not been telling tales when he said that he had long ago come to terms with the fact that she was who the North needed. 

In fact, he had realized it the first time he had come south of the Wall after being sentenced. Her ideas are new, fresh, and things that her forefathers would have never thought of much less implemented. 

Allowing the commander of the Night’s Watch a place in the running of trade for instance is not something they would have allowed as the Watch was not supposed to have a place in politics but she took the opportunity at her feet to change things in the chaos that followed the Long Night.

He isn’t surprised by the way she looks sitting on her throne. Every inch a Queen, not even accounting for the crown atop her head. Jon doesn’t know much about gowns other than that Sansa’s is beautiful and regal. Gray with a white wolf stitched across the bosom, long flowing sleeves and fur across her neck. Simple but still something that forces their people to understand that she is in charge. 

It is a strange combination, the Queen in front of him regal and self-assured and the woman he held in his arms last night while she cried. They hardly seem like the same person. 

The Queen is perfect and amazing. She rules by making people love her and they do. Nearly every farmer and innkeeper Jon has spoken to in the past five years at least has told of the Good Wolf Queen who makes sure they are fed and warm and even invites them into the castle when the cold becomes too much. 

His wife on the other hand, had more in common with that girl who had come to beg the protection of her bastard brother at Castle Black all those years ago. She was broken in ways Jon could not and does not understand. Still a wolf at heart, fighting for what’s right and what belongs to her family, but also a little girl who has had every dream ripped from mind and turned ugly. 

He knows the moment she realizes he is in attendance, standing in the back of the hall simply watching her. He can also see the way her eyes narrow at the obvious evidence of his earlier scuffle. He feels a bit like a young boy, like Robb or Rickon, as she carefully takes in his torn shirt and the blood visible on his arm. He should have bathed before coming here he realizes suddenly but he had needed to see her like this, to be reminded that what Harry, Ramsay, Joffrey, and Littlefinger had left in their wake is not all she is. She is stronger than that. 

Standing in the presence of the Queen he doesn’t see the girl who had jumped into his arms half-starved, but the woman who had made him see that he had to fight for their home; that he had to act as Ned Stark’s son would even if he did not have the name. It is a lesson he has had to learn many times over in the intervening years, especially now that he knows himself to be a Targaryen. 

She glances over to Lord Glover, and there is recognition on her face as she quickly ends proceedings and tells those that have not been brought up that she will return in two hours time.

He had not meant to leave bruises on Glover any more than he meant to let the cod scratch his arm. He had only gone to the training yard to work off some steam after speaking to the carpenter about a new bed. Glover had offered himself as an opponent. It wasn’t until he heard one of Glover’s men make a comment about Jon needing release and another saying something about his balls freezing off because his wife’s cunt had a tendency to scare men away, which Glover had laughed at, that Jon had really gone at him. 

It was a mercy that Bryen, a member of Sansa’s Queensguard, had been walking past to stop Jon from killing the son of a bitch when he had sneered and said his wife was lucky she had a brother to take her because no other man in the kingdom would. 

Sansa approached him briskly, taking his arm and moving to her office as quickly as she could manage.

It is only once the door has closed behind her that she asks, “What did he say?”

He considers playing dumb, but Sansa is far from stupid herself and will know immediately so instead he says, “Nothing of any import and nothing with any truth.”

“Jon you have a temper but would you wouldn’t beat a man like that for saying nothing,” she insists with a roll of her eyes.

“Fine, you’re right, it was not nothing but is not something you need to worry about,” he responds.

Her look changes in front of his face. Gone is the open look of trust and now he sees a hardened ruler who reminds him a great deal of Lord Stark himself.

“Jon I am the Queen and as such I need to know what my subjects are thinking, and I need to know that you are on my side and not keeping things from me because you think me too fragile to handle them,” she explains with gritted teeth.

It is an argument they have had many times over the years since she arrived at Castle Black and one that he knows she is right about. Trying to protect her has only led him to places he would rather not be and he has rarely been successful anyhow. It was his desire to protect Sansa that had led to him going to Dragonstone in the first place. That same desire to protect her had led him to the Wall again as well for killing a woman who wanted to kill her and Arya. 

But while Jon acknowledges that he should not have gone to Dragonstone, he has accepted that Daenerys did need to die. She had killed nearly a million people in a day, more than the Night King even, and she had meant to keep going. He isn’t proud of the way he did it. He did not give her a trial or listen to her last words; something Lord Stark had always said to be important. He always said that the man who passed the sentence must swing the sword and that you must listen to their last words for if you could not bear to do that then maybe that person shouldn’t die. 

At the time he thought that not being able to listen to her last words meant she should not have died but now he knows better. She was his family and no matter the circumstance he would never be able to listen to her last words. That did not mean she should not die for her war crimes.

“Sansa, of course I am on your side. You never have to worry about that. Even when I’m angry I would still fight to the death for you. So, please, trust me when I tell you that it is nothing to worry about,” he tries again though he knows it is unlikely to work. She and Arya may not have much in common but this stubbornness and desire to take care of themselves is something they share. 

She simply moves to sit herself at her desk and then stares at him.

“Why is it so wrong to want to protect you? You are one of the most important people in my life. You are my wife for crying out loud. Is it so wrong that I wish to spare you pain you need not endure?” He growls out at her.

Her eyes soften just a bit before she says, “Of course not. I would wish to spare you the same pain if I could. But I cannot spare you anymore than you can spare me. Jon, yes, I am your wife and you are my husband. I have had marriages before with men who have cared nothing for me and those who thought themselves more clever than I. If we are to make this work, I rather think I should not like to be with a man who treats me like a child the way Tyrion did but who instead sees me as a partner. I have endeavored to be honest with you and I should like the same consideration.”

Jon sighs and drops down into a seat across from her. She is right and he knows it, loath as he is to admit it. One of things he hates about Harry is the way he refused to share her burden. Jon must be a better husband than Harry and maybe that means not trying to protect her.

“You know what he said Sansa. The same shit you said about yourself last night,” he answers because he honestly cannot force those words out of his mouth in her presence. She does not look upset though. She looks resigned.

“Many of the noblemen have been saying things like that for years. I am used to it,” she says with a defeated tone.

“You shouldn’t be,” he argues, “you do not deserve to be treated as such.”

“Jon,” she says gently, “I am a woman who has now been married four times. I have two living husbands, one here and one in the south no doubt whoring about. I killed another myself. Harry is the only one I gave children and even then, it was only two pregnancies. They aren’t wrong to question my past. It is hardly private knowledge nor is it typical of a highborn lady. Men fear what they do not understand.”

“You are still their Queen. They should not speak of you in such a way,” he says though he knows it will not change anything.

“No, they shouldn’t. But as I believe I have said before, I can hardly do anything about it. We have already lost so many and we are just now beginning to really recover from the wars. I can hardly kill or cripple able bodied men for thinking badly of a woman married as many times as I have been. Locking them in the dungeons would not work either as that would just anger them. The best way to handle this is to let it go. If I give it too much credence, then people will give it more power. Then they shall sing songs about it and that becomes my legacy.”

Jon remembers the little girl Sansa was. He had felt a kinship with her, though he had never said so because it was clear she did not feel the same about him. He remembers seeing her on the outside of their siblings, remembers how she cried when she overheard Robb say Arya was his favorite sister, and the way she had always wished to leave Winterfell not because she hated it but because she was lonely here. He remembers just how badly she had wanted to be loved. It was at the heart of all of her childhood dreams.

He thinks that it must be difficult for a girl like that to be spoken of in such a way. She is different now, of course, she has grown and learned the ways of the world but looking into her eyes right now all he can see is that little girl brushing Lady and tying bows into her fur. It makes him miss Ghost, still beyond the wall with the free folk.

“The small folk adore you,” he says before clearing his voice to continue, “every time I ride to the Wall I stop in a tavern or two and people always speak of how you care for them and how happy they are that you are in charge. They call you the Good Wolf Queen.”

She smiles at that.

“And most of the nobles love you just as much. Of course, the Manderly’s do, and the Royces. I haven’t heard anything other than praises from the Skagoi when I am far north either.”

“The Glovers are far from the only ones who would like to see a man in my place, but I realize the rest of the noblemen respect me,” she says with a shy smile.

They are silent for a moment before Sansa says, “Actually there is something you need to be aware of. Not just as my husband and as Jon Snow but as the Lord Commander of our armies.”

Jon sits up straighter and nods; this cannot be good.

“There are rumors floating about the kingdom that we engineered this whole thing,” she explains with wary eyes.

“What?”

“They say that we conspired to kill my dishonorable husband and allow me to pardon you from the Watch,” she continues with a roll of her eyes.

“That makes no sense,” he says, stopping himself from laughing because she does not look to be joking.

“No, it doesn’t,” she agrees, “I have tried to find the source of these rumors but thus far I have been unsuccessful. What is more problematic though, is that it appears that the Ironborn have heard them.”

“And you’re afraid Yara thinks you used her,” he concludes.

“Neither of us were properly horrified by her solution,” she says with a shrug.

“We did not jump at it either,” he retorts.

“No, but neither did we scream and argue. Additionally, we requested to spend the night together before we wed,” she says.

“With Lyarra in between us!” Jon protests because this whole thing is ridiculous.

“Jon, I know,” Sansa says in a soothing tone before reaching out to grab his hand, “I understand that you did not want to marry me, but the truth does not matter here. What matters is what Yara and her men believe and if she believes the rumors to be true, we may be looking at a war.”

“Are you sure?” Jon asks, squeezing her hand. 

“No,” she admits, “I am not sure of anything at this point. I do think there was likely more to Harry’s death than meets the eye.”

“You think the Ironborn had help?” It does make sense Jon is forced to admit. The Ironborn rarely attack Northern shores as they prefer warmer water. What are the chances that they attacked White Harbor, captured Harry and Lyarra, sent for and received reinforcements in the form of Yara herself all on the occasion of Lyarra’s first venture from the castle? What are the chances Yara could have arrived before Sansa and Jon?

“They must have. It was not a planned trip. Harry had shown no interest in taking any of the children anywhere and then suddenly he said he wished to take Lyarra alone.”

“Do you think someone pulled him into their plan?”

“It’s possible. I had wondered if he did not have another mistress who wanted to meet her or something,” Sansa admits with downcast eyes.

“Why would a mistress want to meet his daughter, born of his living wife?” Jon questions.

“Honestly I wouldn’t know but both Cissy and Saffron insisted on it.”

“Only after they were pregnant with his children and forced to face the fact that they were now dependent on your generosity for the sake of their babes,” Jon reasons and she nods at him, still holding his hand over the desk.

“Even if he had another woman and even if she were pregnant why would she request him to bring his daughter, the wolf princess, to her?” He finishes.

“What other reason could there be?”

“What have your little birds said?” Ha asks rather than answer as he does not know.

If she is surprised that he knows about her network of spies she does not show it. In truth, he only knows because Arya had told him several years ago.

“Not much I am afraid. It seems our union has most of the talk and even before there were no indications of a rebellion of any kind.”

A thought occurs to him and he finds himself asking, “what about the Glovers? Do they say anything about them?”

She looks thoughtful before answering, “other than the obvious, not much. Perhaps I should send someone else to check in though.”

“I think that would be a great idea,” he grants.

“In the meantime, please refrain from beating anyone else bloody in the training yard,” she says with a small smile that makes him think that she is not completely upset with his actions.

“I cannot make a promise that I do not believe myself able to keep, your grace,” he answers while helping her to her feet.

“Is that so?”

She takes his arm and he puts his hand over hers when he says, “yes. I may not be able to protect you, but I believe a true partner would defend your honor and you cannot ask that I not at least try to do so. Especially given all that you have done over the past decade to defend mine.”

“I did not think you knew about that,” she says looking a bit shocked.

“Of course I did. It’s why I agreed to take on Moat Caitlin,” he answers.

“I had wondered.”

“Sansa you remade an outdated order for me, so that I would be better respected, and you gave me someplace else to go so that I would not be stuck in that prison. The least I can do is beat up a few of those who do not see your value.”

She turns to him then, again with that shy smile, and asks, “And do you? See my value?”

The question surprises him, as does the almost flirtatious tone she uses to ask it. 

“Of course I do,” he whispers because he does not have control over himself in this moment.

The kiss is fleeting, shy, and unsure. It is nothing like the harsh kisses they had shared the night before that were almost entirely initiated by him. 

She looks shocked by her own actions, but he smiles. It may be weird to be married to Sansa, a woman raised as his sister, but he has long known the truth and he would be lying if he said he had never thought of kissing her.

He leans in to kiss her again to reassure her that she had done nothing wrong. She is his wife and if she wishes to touch him, she has every right. 

Once they break apart, she opens the door and lets go of his arm to go in the opposite direction but before she leaves she stops and says, “you should go bathe,” and then smacks him on the ass before quickly walking away. 

Jon can’t help but smile at her retreating form.


	10. Sansa V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives a gift. So does Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be finished soon. I know I said this would be 10 chapters, and then 12, but it turns out that they have a lot to say. I foresee another 3 to 4 chapters to get everything resolved sufficiently without dragging things out.

Sansa calls for Gawen Glover, the Lord of Deepwood Motte, to stand before her as she prepares to end petitions later that day. He is bruised and it looks as though his nose has been broken. His sister, Lady Erena Forrester, stands at his side looking every bit the part of a disappointed older sibling. Sansa nearly smirks at the way she holds him by the arm like a little boy even though her husband is technically one of Gawen’s vassals. 

“Your grace,” he begins, looking her in the eye, “I wish to apologize to both you and your consort. I was out of line and I beg your forgiveness.”

“So, you admit to your actions? Both the unflattering things you said of your Queen and the altercation with the Lord of Winterfell that resulted in drawing blood from him?” 

It’s very discreet but Sansa knows that Lady Erena kicks him in the shin to remind him to fall to his knees. It is quite satisfying to see.

“Yes, your grace. I confess to my actions,” the man says clearly, confidently and still looking her in the eye even from his knees.

Mya stands off to the side with the newly arrived Lady Myranda Royce and they are each smirking. She wonders what their part in this was. Had they informed Lady Erena of her brother’s actions? Mya certainly knew the things he was saying about her and she would not put it past either of them.

Sansa lets him sit on his knees for perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary before she bids him to raise.

“My Lord, I accept your apology. I realize, of course, that you meant no harm and were merely speaking in the way that men do when amongst themselves. And, of course, you only hit my husband after he landed the first strike.” 

Lord Glover looks exceedingly reassured and she can practically see the confidence overflow from his body. Jon walks into the hall then, along with Rickon and Robb who each hold one of his hands. She makes eye contact very briefly and knows what she must do. Perhaps if no one knew what he had said, or if he had not drawn royal blood, she could let this pass, but people do know what he said, and she had seen Jon’s blood herself. Jon nods at her in reassurance.

“However, I am your Queen and to speak of me in such a way, in front of my husband no less, shows exceedingly terrible judgement,” she continues.

The confidence drains from Lord Glover’s face and his sister, whose company Sansa quite enjoys, also begins to look uncertain. As Queen she is not known to tolerate disrespect, but she is also known to only truly punish actions that merit consequence. Unfortunately, this is one of them even if the Glovers did not realize it.

“I must admit that I have reservations about allowing a seat such as yours to be filled by someone whose judgement is so lacking,” she tells him, watching the panic cross his bruised face. “However, out of respect to your Lady sister, I will give you another chance. I must request that you report to my husband for the next fortnight to help with hard labor. Hopefully that will help you return to the good judgement I know you to be capable of.”

Gawen looks resigned to his fate and nods with downcast eyes.

“I must tell you that Jon has killed for less and if your sentence were up to him you would face greater consequences for your actions and words. Disrespecting House Stark is not a clever decision and if you do so again, I will allow him the pleasure of choosing your punishment.”

“Thank you, for your mercy your grace,” Gawen says, no longer daring to make eye contact.

His sister nearly drags him out of the hall in full view of the Lords and Ladies present. Sansa shares a smile with Jon before dismissing the rest of court for the day and going to meet her husband and sons, all freshly bathed.

++

Two days later Myranda finds her in the chancery with Yohn. The woman’s uncle is just leaving and gives her a kiss to the cheek on his way out the door. Once he is gone Myranda strides over to her and places a box in her lap before taking a seat across from her at the desk.

“Mya said you were having certain difficulties in your new marriage. I thought this might help,” she says with a blinding smile. 

Where Mya tends to remind Sansa of Arya, with short hair, a tendency to dress in men’s clothing, and a fascination with the outdoors, Myranda reminds her of all of the best parts of Margaery Tyrell. She isn’t as thin or so tall, but she is feminine and unabashed in a way Sansa could never hope or want to be.

“Mya has a big mouth,” Sansa says with an eye roll. 

“Oh, do not be too cross with her your grace. She only had your best interests at heart,” Myranda replies.

“Of course, now what is in here and how fearful should I be?” Sansa jokes.

“Well open it and find out,” she implores with a wave of her hand.

The box is small and lightweight. Once she has removed the lid, she pulls out a beautiful gray shift. Lightweight and flowing, it is made of soft silk that feels good on her fingertips. It is far more lowcut than she has worn in several years, since before her time with Ramsay, and looks to be shorter than she is used to as well.

“Myranda, it is beautiful,” she says to her friend.

“I know,” she responds with a cheeky smile, “Mya said you need some confidence, and I thought this might give it to you. I had my dress maker put it together. It’s more modest than I would wear but I knew you would never wear anything more risqué.”

“Honestly I’m not sure I could wear this in front of Jon,” she admits with a small smile.

“So, don’t wear in front of him,” the short woman says with a shrug, “wear it when you’re alone. You’re a woman Sansa and you need to remember that. Maybe a few nights in it and you’ll gain enough confidence to walk into his room wearing it. Or to walk into his room wearing nothing at all.”

Sansa laughs politely, knowing she will never do such a thing.

“Sansa,” Myranda says, “You are not just a woman. You are a Queen. Make that man get his knees and worship you.”

“Myranda!” Sansa exclaims even though she is long used to the woman’s crude nature.

“I know you’ve had a rough go of it,” her friend says suddenly serious and reaching out to place her hand atop Sansa’s, “I know what happened before your marriage to Harry changed you and I have seen the way Harry himself treated you; but they are not all you have to look forward to. You are still a young woman; you aren’t even thirty and now you are married to one of the few good men in the kingdom. Give yourself leave to enjoy it. Let him show you how different it can be. I bet with lips like his he knows a thing or two,” she quips, drawing a smile from Sansa before removing her hand.

“I’ve never thought of him that way before,” she admits.

“Well when was the last time you thought of anyone that way?” Myranda retorts.

“I don’t know. Maybe Harry when we first wed,” she tries.

“What do you mean maybe? I think you would know if you wanted a man’s cock in your mouth,” she says incredulously.

“Mya says I should go in a room alone and just think about him,” Sansa remarks, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Well, have you taken her advice?” Her friend asks as she gets up to pour each of them a glass of wine.

“No,” she admits when the woman places her glass in her hands.

“And why not?” She asks as she returns to her seat.

That is a tough question. Sansa knows the answer of course, has thought of it for the past few days since that night in her bed, but it is difficult to admit. She certainly can’t say it to Jon, who will get broody and self-righteous in the face of her pain. She cannot say it to Mya either as Mya still thinks quite well of Harry, never having had the experience of being his wife or having him walk out on her and her child the way Cissy or Saffron had because she had gained weight during her pregnancy. 

She rather wishes for Arya in times like these. Her sister would give her the right of it without being too harsh but maybe Myranda is the next best thing; she is uninhibited, and she does not hold loyalty to Harry having never slept with him. Though she had had a small crush on the man until she saw how he treated his wife.

“What if it’s the same? I know what happened with Ramsay wasn’t normal but what if being with Jon is the same as being with Harry,” she admits.

“What was it like being with Harry?” She asks with a look on her face that Sansa cannot name. It isn’t pity but isn’t curiosity either.

“It hurt. Not like it did with Ramsay. I usually got him almost all the way in my mouth, he liked that, and then I let him finish inside me so we could try for a babe. After the boys I stopped letting him do that because it hurt too badly,” she says taking a drink of her wine, just large enough to give the appearance that she is unaffected by the words she is saying.

“It isn’t supposed to feel like that. Make him start with his mouth. If you still aren’t wet enough use oil. It’ll help a great deal,” Myranda answers in her serious tone of voice. Sansa appreciates that she is not laughing or making light of the situation.

“Jon said something similar,” she admits.

“Well then I daresay he probably won’t be the same as Harry. If nothing else Sansa, wear the shift, even if nothing happens you’ll feel amazing and if you wear it in front of him you’ll feel wanted in a way you never have before.”

“Will I feel powerful?” She asks before she can stop herself.

“I have never felt more powerful than I did wearing something sexy in the same room as my husband, that poor man,” she says with a smile, “he died in bed with me, you know. I fucked the man to death.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. She’s heard the story a hundred times before.

++

“So, you really don’t think it’s him?” Jon asks as he prepares for bed. Their new bed had been set up earlier in the day with all new feathers even though there was nothing wrong with the old ones. It is a monstrous thing that takes up nearly half of the room though it will be nice if they find themselves sharing it with three children again, she thinks.

“This sort of thing would require charm and the ability to keep a secret. He’s the sort of man that if he has a problem with someone he says so, usually with his fist,” she explains from behind her changing screen, “and I doubt he could ever keep a secret anyhow.”

“Could it be someone from his household?” Jon asks from the bed.

“Perhaps, but I have had no news that flags. If anything, the girls say that they respect us a great deal more now that they see Gawen moving hay and stone all day. The women find it funny and the men have spoken respectfully about the way we handled it. None of them wish to cross us.”

Jon laughs a bit at that before asking, “And did you have a good time being escorted to supper by the man?”

“Only if you consider it a good time to have a nervous man three times your size sweating and trying to make you laugh with jokes that aren’t funny,” she says with a snort.

“That bad?” He asks without the appropriate sympathy.

She pokes her head out to say, “worse. Though he isn’t the worst dinner companion I’ve had.”

“Oh?”

“A story for another time,” she answers, still behind the screen.

She steels herself before she walks out in the shift Myranda gave her. She had been gifted the thing three days ago and she had gone back and forth about whether she would ever wear it, landing on no more often than not. Then she had had the startling revelation that she truly wanted to know if what Myranda said is true. 

Will she feel powerful in this? Will she feel like a woman with her husband in the way she had once dreamed of as a young woman just betrothed to the crown prince? Wanted, loved and adored?

Sansa has never felt that way. She has only ever seen the heat of a man directed at her from Littlefinger’s conniving eyes, and those of hungry, angry men who see her as nothing more than a cunt to fuck or a way to gain power.

She has never felt like a woman alone with her man. She wants to though. Seven above she wants to feel that way just once. Like she is magical and perfect, like she is a desirable woman and not just some broodmare whose title will bring a man’s children power. 

“It was a wedding gift. What do you think?” She asks as she moves over to sit at the edge of the new bed.

“Um,” he sounds choked, “I like it. Do you?”

She nearly laughs at the strangled way his voice sounds, at how wide his eyes get, and the way he clearly has to force himself to look into her eyes rather than at her cleavage.

“Jon, you are my husband. You have every right to look,” she says shyly.

He does, gasping just a bit but not looking turned off at the sight of the scars visible on her exposed skin. He blushes as he takes her in, and she wonders if this is what Cersei was talking about? Is this the power other women feel? Is this what other women feel during their bedding ceremonies? 

His eyes come back to hers a few moments later but he does not say anything. He lays back and opens his arm to her.

“I don’t think that will keep you very warm tonight so I suppose that shall be my job,” he says finally with a small smile.

She snuggles into his arms, her head on his chest, before a thought occurs and she asks, “So you don’t mind then?”

His hand is rubbing up and down her side. It stops momentarily for him to ask, “don’t mind what?”

“Me, coming to bed in this, even though I’m not ready to do anything else,” she clarifies. Sansa believes she knows the answer, that his actions have given it to her already, but she needs to hear the words.

“I won’t lie to you. I may need to sneak out for a moment or two later, but you have to be mad if you think I would tell you not to wear that whenever you damn well please.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I wore this to take petitioners on the morrow?” She teases.

He growls a bit, sounding very much like Ghost, before he responds, “I may have to put my foot down there. But you can wear it here whenever you please. In fact, I encourage it.”

She wants to kiss him she realizes, that feeling has been coming over her more and more recently, but she isn’t sure how it will be received considering that she has already said nothing will happen tonight. So, she lays in his arms until she falls asleep instead, feeling every bit as powerful as Myranda said she would.


	11. Jon VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was bound to happen eventually.

Offering to train Sansa to fight may have been something of an impulse decision but Jon cannot say that it is one that he regrets. His wife is something of a natural, perhaps from years of watching others or perhaps from things he would rather not think on. Her foot work is precise, her grip on the dagger he has made for her perfect, and her instincts spot on. 

They have only had one other session and while her bannerman had paid attention before now those watching do not dare to take their eyes off of her. Jon thinks they may place a new respect on her after seeing her fight. 

She is wearing a dress, an older one that is fairly worn through, because she always wears dresses and if she is ever attacked it will be while wearing one; but it is dirty and shows the effects of training. Although, no one is paying attention to her state of dress. They are watching because she’s beating the hell out of him.

She can throw a mean punch and gets him in the ribs as he attacks her. It slows him down momentarily but he’s still able to grab her about the waist and put his arm around her neck in a choke hold. 

“Now turn your head to the side and tuck your jaw down. It will protect your airway. Then pull your arms up, you want to get your fingers in between my arm and your neck,” he instructs.

She manages it, just barely, and huffs out, “Wouldn’t it be easier to throw my head backward?”

“If you do that you bare your neck. A determined attacker can wave off pain and fight through it. This isn’t about getting away, not yet, this is about making sure you are in a position to get away. If you can’t breathe you can’t fight.”

She nods and rubs her neck as he releases her. 

“Ready to go again?” He asks and is unsurprised by her nod. He had thought she might second guess herself, this is a new experience after all, but she is just as headstrong as ever. The look on her face is determined and fierce.

He moves behind her quickly, putting his arms around her neck. She turns her head quickly, tucking her jaw in and putting her left hand in between them. With her right arm she elbows him in the ribs.

He chokes as he lets go of her. 

“Was that okay?” She asks with a smirk.

“That was perfect, but next time you should run afterward,” he warns as he moves to grab her about the waist. Her breath catches and he can’t help but lean down and kiss her. He realizes his mistake quickly as she stiffens in his arms. They are in public, and the bannerman are watching. This is highly improper.

Sansa brushes it off, straightening herself up and acting like it hadn’t thrown her at all. Then, while he is still distracted, she brings the heel of her hand into his nose. She does not break it, but it is a close thing.

“Alright, alright, I won’t kiss you in public anymore!” He huffs out, laughing, while his eyes water. 

++

Lyarra is not the fighter her aunt Arya is, and she is not the natural her mother is. Jon had had a good idea going in that this would be the case, mostly because she has never shown any interest in fighting. 

In many ways Lyarra is her mother made over. She enjoys wearing pretty things and making pretty things. She likes to play dolls with Alys, and to visit Saffron’s babe, her newest sister Beth, in the nursery, and she sticks her nose up at her brothers as they run about the keep covered in mud and playing war. 

Now, none of that means she can’t enjoy fighting and in fact Jon thinks she may come to like it in the future, but it does mean that certain aspects of training turn her off. Playing outside and getting muddy being at the top of that list. 

More than that though, Lyarra is clumsy. His poor girl is so clumsy! He had noticed it while they were kept on that damnable ship, but he had thought it was the waves of the ocean that kept knocking her over. On the training yard he sees that is not the case. 

He has taken her riding before, she has asked for lessons, and she had been just as clumsy then, although at that point it did not seem to be as big of a stumbling block as it seems to be here.

There is not as large of an audience for the princess as there was for her mother, in part because Jon had been able to find time in his busy schedule to train her in the middle of the day, and in part because she is just a little girl and not the queen. 

Robb and Rickon had watched the first few minutes but had grown bored and wondered off some time ago.

“Uncle Jon!” She whines before throwing herself on the ground.

“Lyarra, get up,” Jon commands and the little girl obeys, reluctantly and with a pout firmly in place.

“Now where do you kick?” He asks again.

“Wyman never told me any of this! He said as long as I have my dagger, I’ll be fine,” she sulks and kicks the air.

“Your mother isn’t going to let you carry a dagger everywhere you go. At least not until you are older. And, besides, you didn’t have it with you, did you? This is important Ly, sometimes you don’t have a weapon, but you can’t give up the fight,” he explains.

“Like mama said, sometimes you have to fight with your mind?” She seems to be considering his point.

“Exactly. There are many ways to fight. Do not limit yourself to one alone,” he tries to smile at her, worn and tired as he is, because he does know that one of the reasons she wants this so badly is because it means she gets to spend time with him and him alone. He hardly means to spoil that, but this is important. She will not be defenseless.

Eventually Jon calls it a day on the hand to hand and tells her to pick up her dagger and show it to him. He notices immediately that she is holding it wrong, and that it is far too large for her.

“Is this the one Wyman gave you?” He asks carefully.

“Yes. He had it made special. I wanted to use Papa’s blade, but mama said no,” she says with another pout and Jon moves to put his hand on her shoulder. He gives her a squeeze as he looks the knife over.

“Your father’s blade would be too big for your hand right now. Like this one. Can I have another made for you and we’ll put this one away until you are older?” He asks carefully. She seems attached to this one but it hardly an appropriate weapon for a seven-year-old girl.

“I suppose,” she says hesitantly.

“Thank you, princess. You know I bet we can sneak into the kitchens and swipe a lemon cake or two,” he says and has her smiling.

He holds it up and it isn’t even balanced. He has to speak to Sansa.

++

He hands Sansa the blade in their solar that evening after the children are abed. 

“How did Wyman Holt come to be in your service?” He asks quietly, knowing by the look on her face that she does not understand why he is asking such.

“He was one of your commanders during the Long Night and served under Harry when he was in charge of the armies. Two years ago, when Harry decided he no longer wanted to be Lord Commander, Wyman came to me with some suggestions. I thought they were good and Yohn agreed so I put him in charge to implement them.”

Jon nods, knowing that it was two years ago that Saffron had shown up at the gates, pregnant with the Prince Consort’s babe and grieving the death of her father. Harry must have stepped down out of shame or perhaps because the majority of the banners would find it difficult to follow a man with no honor.

“What were his ideas?” he asks carefully. Sansa stares at him, with the blade still in her hands.

“There were several but the biggest were annual drills. Requiring every able-bodied man in the kingdom to serve for a fortnight. We would feed them, and they would train in fighting just in case they were called upon,” she explains. 

“That never happened did it?” he asks, confusedly. He was in the Watch and would presumably not be included but no one had told him that it would now be on his extensive list of responsibilities.

“No. It’s a great idea but the fields were just starting to truly recover, and food is more important. I had to make a choice between having the men tend the fields, which would mean being forced to purchase food from the Reach or train the army. It’s always been up to the banners to prepare the forces, so I decided to keep it that way and try again in the future,” she answers, twirling the blade in her hand.

“How did he react to that?”

“He was angry at first, but he understood,” she says calmly.

“Sansa, that is the blade he was using to train Lyarra with. It looks well made but if you look closer it is unbalanced and made of badly fortified steel,” he explains carefully, wanting to be sure that she understands what he is implying.

“What are you saying Jon?” she finally asks adding on, “please speak plainly.”

“Sansa, one cannot make a blade this bad that looks this good without trying to. He wasn’t even teaching her how to fight without the blade. He told her that she did not need to know how to actually fight. I had a hard time convincing her otherwise. Whose idea was it to teach her to fight?”

“Mine. I insisted on it. Wyman did not like the idea, but Harry actually agreed with me for once. I thought I would have to order him to do it, but he gave in after Harry told him to.”

“Was he good friends with Harry?” Jon presses, although he stays put on the chair across from her as he can see that she is growing impatient with his questioning.

“Harry recommended him for the position. He said that they had fought together once, when we had to put down the Ironborn a few years ago.”

“Wait, the Ironborn?” A picture is starting to form in his head and Jon doesn’t like where it is leading.

“No. Jon. No. Wyman and Harry were not in a plot with Yara Greyjoy,” Sansa says firmly, “Harry was an asshole of the highest caliber and a terrible husband, but he was not conspiring against me and neither was Wyman Holt.”

“Sansa,” Jon growls and stands up to pace about the room, “Wyman was faking training your daughter to fight. He put her in danger! Either because he was an idiot or because he was trying to and since everyone I speak to tells me how amazing the man is I can’t think it is the first. I don’t know if Harry was involved or if he was being manipulated in some way, but he was more than just a terrible husband. Sansa, he hurt you. Just as badly as Ramsey fucking Bolton. Maybe worse.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare think that just because I was forced to marry you, the same as the others, that you are entitled to an opinion about my life and the only man I ever picked for myself. He was not plotting a rebellion. I would have known!” She says firmly.

“How? Because you’re so much cleverer than everyone else in the kingdom? Sansa, he was a snake!” Jon exclaims, throwing his hands in the air, “the things he did to you, I wish I could beat him bloody.”

“I never said that I’m smarter than anyone else. In all honesty I’m still just that stupid little girl I was when I failed to save fathers life in Kings Landing. I have never been disillusioned about any of my husbands. I knew Tyrion was fucking my handmaiden. I knew what Ramsey was the moment I was left alone with him. I knew that Harry did not love me even though he said he did. I was just stupid enough to believe he could someday. And I know that your judgement is just as flawed as my own. You have no room to talk Jon. The last woman you fucked was Daenerys Targaryen. A woman you thought would be a good ruler and who ended up burning an entire city. So, get off your high horse,” she says calmly, finally standing to get herself a glass of wine.

“Why did Wyman leave once I showed up? You said yourself that Yara meant for our union to cause a war. And then immediately after we get home the Lord Commander of your army leaves? How is that not suspicious?” He questions, staying firmly away from her last statement. 

“His mother was ill. If my mother were ill I would go to her too. Besides, he knew I had you and you are more than capable of doing his job. If it will make you feel better, I will send someone to check,” she grounds out and Jon can see the strain on her face. She is trying desperately not to scream at him, and it makes him want to punch a wall.

“You’re smarter than this Sansa,” he spits out, turning away from her.

“I’m really not. Especially not if what you think is true. I’m surprised you’re saying so. You never thought much of me. Or my intellect,” she says without emotion and it hits Jon like a brick to the chest. 

“You cannot still be upset that I didn’t listen to you once, twelve years ago!”

“It wasn’t just once Jon. You did not listen to me about Ramsey, and you did not listen to me about your dragon queen either. You still don’t listen to me. Not really. I knew Harry. He was not willingly involved in this. I’ll concede that he may have been manipulated but I cannot see another way. He may not have loved me, not surprising as no one can, but he loved his daughter and he would not put her in danger.”

Jon moves to her swiftly, grabbing her about the waist and kissing her firmly. He pulls back reluctantly and looks into her eyes as he says, “You have got to stop saying things like that. Harry was the stupid one, not to see how amazing you are. I love you Sansa, I'm in love with you, and that means it is possible.”

That gets a reaction. Sansa backs away from him quickly, pushing him with as much force as she is able. 

“No, no, no, no, you can’t,” she whispers as she goes to their room. Jon chases after her but she turns to him and places her hand on his chest to say, “You should stay in your room for a while,” and then closes the door in his face leaving Jon to wonder what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it gets better, but, well it has to get worse before that can happen. Sansa is still fighting herself about Harry and beating herself up about trusting him and that still has an effect on her unfortunately. Was Harry involved in his own death? We'll see.
> 
> But yay! Jon finally said the words.


	12. Sansa VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa realizes some difficult truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I just bought my very first house! We're coming to a close in the next couple of chapters but I don't want to rush things. Let me know what you guys think.

This whole marriage was a mistake. She should have called the rest of the bannermen and their armies and fought to the death for what belongs to them. The Sansa that existed a decade ago would have. She never would have agreed to another forced marriage; she never would have agreed to this farce.

She never should have agreed to this farce. 

Looking at her little boys run through the training yard, with sticks as they are not allowed to train just yet, she knows that not fighting was the right choice. Her sons deserve to grow up and they deserve to do so in an independent North. The odds were too even to guarantee victory. Even Yara knew that or she never would have offered the treaty in the first place. 

If they fought and they lost…

Well who knows what the south would have subjected them to?

At the least there would have been too many sons lost. They have already lost so many in Sansa’s lifetime alone that she could not subject her people to that.

No, accepting the treaty was the right thing to do. Even if it did leave her married to a liar. 

Jon isn’t a liar though and Sansa knows that but what is the alternative? That he actually believes himself to love her? That’s even more terrifying because what happens when he sees the real her? The one that doesn’t share and isn’t as honest as a Stark should be?

The boys run past again, this time looking up at her, to make sure she’s watching and that she sees how brave they are being. She smiles at them and waves before nearly jumping out of her skin at a hand coming into contact with her lower back.

“Whoa, it’s just me your grace,” Jon soothes, moving his hand in circles on her back. He hasn’t said her name in three days, opting to call her your grace instead. His mannerisms haven’t changed though. He still touches her, smooths her hair, and offers his arm. If anything he seems to take more liberties than he had before. The only other time he has touched her lower back, for instance, is when they were abed. 

The feeling of his hand at her back, warm and heavy, makes her think of those nights wrapped in his arms. It makes her miss them. She cannot give in to the temptation though. She isn’t stupid, she will not fall into this trap. Not again. 

She steels her spine so as to ensure that Jon doesn’t know the affect he’s having on her and stares him in the eye.

“How can I help you husband?”

His eyes stare into hers. If she were a stronger woman mayhaps she would give in, but she isn’t. She is a weak woman whose heart cannot be broken again. 

“I merely thought I would join you in watching the children. Where is Lyarra? I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”

“She and Alys went to visit Beth,” she answers easily without giving herself away. She may not like the fact that Alys and Beth exist, but she is grateful for Alys’ relationship with Lyarra. 

“The appeal of a new babe I suppose,” Jon muses, with his hand still on her back. Perhaps it is her anxiety, but it sits heavier now than when he put it there.

“We were the same way. I was too young when Arya was born but with Bran and Rickon Jeyne and I went to the nursery daily.”

“Robb and I did as well. With all four of you. You were the quietest thing, as if you were already a lady. When you were old enough Father would carry you to petitions and sit you on his lap. I was never sure if he thought you looked more regal then he or if he meant to use you as a shield to get away from the banners more quickly. There were certainly things that they would not say in front of you. He never did that with anyone else. Though none of them could handle it the way you did.”

He isn’t looking at her. He’s staring off at the boys instead. There is a small smile on his face, and it is almost enough to make her speak to him, but she cannot. She has to put some distance between them and that means no reminiscing and no giving in to weak emotions. 

He gives her a hurt look when pulls away from him, but she hardens her heart and says, “Thank you for the story. I shall see you at luncheon,” as she walks away. 

For the past three days Jon has let her go. No matter the conversation, when she chooses to end it he lets her without a fight. She cannot help but think that if he really loved her, he would not do such a thing. If he really loved her he would fight to make her see it. 

He lets her walks away this time too.

++

Mya and Myranda notice. 

Of fucking course they notice. Myranda makes it her job to notice everything about Sansa and Mya’s actual job requires that she do so.

“Why is this a problem?” Mya asks when she finally tells them what happened. Well, not all of the details because they do not need to know about the fight or the insinuations that Jon made about Harry. Though perhaps sharing a bit of it would cause Mya to push the conversation away from Jon. Or at least ensure that Mya is on her side.

“How do you not see it?” She asks coolly rather than answering the question. 

“Sweetling I don’t see it either. Your husband loves you. That’s a good thing. That’s what you have always wanted right?” Myranda asks bluntly.

“A lifetime ago perhaps I did,” she mutters.

“Sansa,” Myranda says, “You cannot lie to me. I saw you in the beginning with Harry. I know how much you wanted him to love you.”

“But he didn’t. He loved half the gods be damned kingdom and after having his babe he couldn’t even look at me. And I never loved him. No matter how hard I tried,” she argues.

“After I gave birth to Domeric he stopped coming to me,” Mya says from her chair in front of the fire.

“You never told me that,” Sansa responds.

“I gained some weight. He didn’t like that. I worked really hard to lose it and I did but he had already moved on. To you actually. When I confronted him about it he said he never would have married a bastard anyhow and that I was stupid to think he would, especially when he could have a Queen,” she tells her clearly, not having touched the cup of wine Myranda had handed her.

“What an ass!” Myranda exclaims, “I am so glad I never jumped on that, even if he did look delicious.”

Sansa is just able to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, we were over and had been for nearly a year before you made your offer. Besides, you were certainly better to Dom than Harry was. You gave him a name. Harry never would have even asked for that. No matter how much he loved him.”

“Sansa, there is a difference in love and lust. Harry lusted for half the kingdom. At one point he lusted for me, and at another you. He also lusted for Saffron and Cissy. Lust burns out quickly and then it moves on. You were unfortunate enough to be married to him. Unlike me, and Cissy, and Saffron you had to try and live with the man. None of that is your fault and it isn’t wrong to try and make yourself believe he loved you at least a little,” Mya finishes quietly, taking a drink of her wine. It’s the most Sansa has ever heard Mya say against Harry and she finds herself in shock.

“She’s right, you know? I lust for many men. Some of them lust for me in return but not all of them and when I’m finished lusting for them, I’m finished with them. Love is different than lust. I’ve only been in love once, and he didn’t love me back though, so mayhaps I’m not the best to speak on this,” Myranda adds before finishing off her cup.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt lust before,” Sansa admits and tries not to take offence to Myranda’s snort.

“Yes you have. You just don’t trust it. You’ve lusted for Jon even. Or have you not kissed him? Made out with him? Worn that shift to bed with him?” Myranda points out.

“Yes Sansa, that’s lust,” Mya answers before she can even ask the question.

“How do I learn to trust it?” She asks instead.

“How did you learn to trust yourself as Queen?” Myranda asks simply.

“I didn’t. I still don’t really. I just make it up as I go and hope I’m doing the right thing,” she admits.

“Love’s the same way,” Mya answers, “Nothing makes sense, not even your own thoughts or feelings, and you make it all up as you go.”

“Those who get love in their arranged marriage are lucky,” Myranda says, strangely soft, “and for once you are the lucky one. I get it, you’ve had shit luck before and now you’re waiting for the bottom to drop out but sweetling you can’t do that forever. Like it or not you’re stuck in this marriage until one of you kicks the bucket. You know he would never lie to you. So make the best of it.”

Myranda is right, Sansa knows. She is stuck in this marriage until one of them dies and each of her marriages have been longer than the last so if it keeps to trend this one will last a long while. If nothing else, even if Jon eventually realizes he was mistaken, he will never hurt her or dishonor her. 

Of that she is certain.

“I was terrified when Harry wanted to move North you know? He practically begged me to accompany him. He never would have taken Dom from me, but he wanted his son near, and I wanted that as well. I was even more terrified when he accepted your offer. I was worried about how you would treat me, and more importantly how you would treat Dom. He had no choice in any of it you know. But it worked out quite well for me. I think this will work out well for you too,” Mya says simply, looking Sansa in the eyes. 

++

As a child Sansa had lots of silly ideas about what love was. It was songs and chivalry. It was gallant men like Wymar Royce. It was smiles and walks in the courtyard and it was crowns made of flowers after winning a tourney. 

None of that has ever worked for Sansa though, not really. She knows now that songs lie, and knights are not typically chivalrous. Gallant men are few and far between and tourneys are a waste of time when there is work to do and your people are starving. 

But if that isn’t love then what is? 

++

“I’m sorry,” she announces as she strides into Jon’s chamber without knocking. He looks up from the sofa, where he’s polishing Long Claw, and gives her a shocked look.

“I sent Byren to check on Wyman and his mother. His mother is fine and hasn’t heard from him in moons. I sent out scouts looking for him, discreetly, but I won’t hear anything for a while. I’m hoping he’ll show up to the feast and save me the trouble,” she explains as she walks over to stand in front of him. He moves to stand as well and reaches out to touch her arm. 

She allows it.

“The feast is in a fortnight. Do you think he’ll take that risk?” He asks her, though she can tell he has a million other things he would like to say.

“Yes. He’s a risk taker. It’s one of the reasons I made him Lord Commander. He also likes to think himself more clever than everyone else. He’ll show and if he doesn’t, we’ll find him. Until then I think we should keep this quiet. I don’t want anyone tipping him off.”

“I agree, if he finds out we’re on to him he’ll disappear for a while,” Jon answers, looking uncertain as to what he should be doing.

She takes pity and sits down, allowing him to do the same. He sits to her right, not touching her but close enough he can feel the heat from his skin. It makes her shiver.

Things are quiet for a long while and eventually Jon resumes polishing his sword. 

“I spoke to Myranda and Mya. They say how I reacted to you was silly,” she whispers.

Jon jerks at her words and turns to her, sitting the sword on the ground.

“It wasn’t silly. I should have known not to say it right then. You were upset already, and it came out of nowhere I’m sure,” he soothes.

“It really didn’t,” she answers more confidently, “You’ve always loved me. Maybe not as your wife but as family. And you’ve always loved quite fiercely. We’ve been working up to being more physical. It makes sense that you would start to feel differently. I should have seen it coming.”

“And you?” Jon asks, looking at the fire instead of at her.

“What about me?” She asks innocently.

“How do you feel?” He seems nervous suddenly but that can’t be right.

“I don’t know. I do love you. You are my family and you mean everything to me. You saved me when no one else cared. You fought for me and you fight with me. I need that and no one else really does it. At least not anyone I trust,” she admits.

“Sansa, you promised you would try to be honest with me. Please be honest,” he calls out.

“What I feel for you has changed since we wed but I don’t know how exactly. I’ve never felt this way and I have no idea what it means or what to do with it,” she explains, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels.

“There’s more isn’t there?” he asks gently, the way he used to speak to Arya, Bran, and Rickon when they were children.

“I’m not an honest person Jon. I try to be however; I am in charge and there are some things I cannot share. Sometimes it is easier to not let on about them at all so I don’t have to tell someone that I cannot share with them. Now, it is more likely that I will omit the truth than tell it. I manipulate people sometimes and I do not feel sorry about it. I don’t lose sleep over the things I’ve talked people into doing. I worry that once you see all of that, once I cannot hide it anymore, that you will change your mind,” she admits.

Jon puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her to rest her head on his chest.

“I hate to tell you this, but I already knew all of that,” he tells her, holding her still when she tries to move, “I’ve known you since you were born. I know what a little shit you were as a child and I know how you changed after we left home. You’ve betrayed me before and I haven’t forgotten it. But I also know why you did it. You were trying to save me, even from myself. I know that you have manipulated people, but I also know that you would never have them do anything to dishonor themselves. Finally, I understand that part of being Queen is that you know more than the rest of us and can’t always share. I know all of that and I love you anyway. Maybe even because of all of that.”

She relaxes into his side as he speaks. Maybe he does understand.

“It’s not easy for me either you know.”

“I know,” she answers, because she does. She knows his history as well as he knows hers. 

“Is this what it felt like with Ygritte?” She asks because she needs to know. 

“No. Not really. Ygritte and I were like a fire. We came together quickly but died out just as quickly. I thought I knew her, but we had different loyalties. We were from different worlds. Even if she had lived and I had been able to leave the Watch somehow I doubt we would have been able to stay together.”

“Why is that?”

“She didn’t need me. She wanted me, sure, but she didn’t need me. She was perfectly fine without me and I don’t think that being with me helped her in any way. I’m man enough to admit that I quite like being needed and I don’t think I would have been happy with her after a time.”

“It was just her and the dragon queen, right?”

“Aye. And before you ask, Dany and I wouldn’t have made it either. I rather think that if she had taken the throne and I had married her that I would have been miserable. She didn’t like being kept to one person and had no problem asking me to lie to you and Arya. I thought I knew her, but I was wrong.”

“It still bothers you doesn’t it?”

“Aye. I saw it coming but I ignored it because I was a coward. I didn’t want to believe that she was capable of that. It just didn’t go along with what I knew of her from before. On Dragonstone she was amazing and a capable leader, but I realize now that we were on an island. We were surrounded by her people. Of course, she looked amazing on that island. There was no one nearby to question her or push her.”

“Tyrion was similar. I was forced to be with him, but he didn’t treat me badly. It felt like he was being kind simply because he wasn’t being cruel.”

His hand grips her a bit tighter, not uncomfortably so but in recognition.

“Jon?” She asks softly.

“Hmm?” 

“Please don’t hurt me. If you don’t really love me just say so. I don’t think I could handle you changing your mind later,” she pleads from his chest.

Jon moves her so that he is looking her in the eye and responds, “I’m not lying. I’m not mistaken. I’m not just saying what I think you want to hear. I would not have said the words if I didn’t mean them and I won’t change my mind. The old gods know that we will fight but as much as we argue already if I still love you that won’t change in the future.”

“Okay,” she says before she leans in to kiss him.


	13. Jon VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa talk, Jon gets some interesting information, and then Jon and Sansa talk some more.

Jon wakes to a foot in his ribs and lets out a groan. He opens a single eye to see Rickon laying between Sansa and himself, his feet at Jon’s chest and his head at Sansa’s. His wife, for her part, is turned away from them both, turned onto her left side whispering to their daughter. 

Lyarra must have had another nightmare. 

The light in the room tells him that the day has started but only just so he closes that eye and tries to sleep a little longer. 

The past few days have been relatively exhausting, not even including his spat with Sansa which he hadn’t been able to give his full attention to. There are more and more people coming into the castle and they all require an audience with Sansa, meaning she has little in the way of free time, and many of them also require an audience with Jon as the new Lord Commander. 

So many, in fact, require an audience with him that he has been unable to attend supper in the great hall with his family for days which leaves Sansa to be escorted by one of the nobles, something that Jon knows she hates but will endure as duty.

He opens his eyes again and reaches out to move Rickon’s wiggly body to a more comfortable position that just so happens to leave him able to put an arm around the three of them. 

“I hope we didn’t wake you,” she whispers as Lyarra has fallen back to sleep.

“You didn’t, but it would have been alright if you did. Is she okay?” 

“I think maybe it would help if we have Alys sleep with her for a while. She’s terrified of the dark and of being alone.”

He’d grown up in this very castle, unable to sleep in the family quarters because of his bastard status. Lady Catelyn never would have allowed it. He knows that Sansa is not her mother. She has grown out of most of her prejudices over the years, including the one against bastards, but it fills his heart all the same to hear her offer to keep Alys in the family rooms, even for just a few days. 

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he answers softly.

She turns gently to face him and moves her hand to run down Rickon’s face.

“They need bathes soon,” she mutters with a smile.

“I’ll find some time today,” he promises.

“Do you have any idea how good it feels to have help with them? I mean don’t get me wrong, the nurse tries her best but especially with the boys they need a man around, and I feel like they listen better to you.”

“Sansa, they’re obstinate little shits. They listen to me because they know I’ll paddle them if they don’t. But you’re welcome anyway. They are a lot to handle,” he says with a small laugh.

“Either way it’s nice to know there is someone else looking out for them the way I would,” she presses.

“Well, they are mine too now. You may have given birth to them but that doesn’t mean all of the responsibilities should fall on you,” he insists.

She gives a hmm in response and chews her lip before asking, “Do you think you want more children?”

Well isn’t that a question? Jon’s always dreamed of a son of his own blood but Robb and Rickon are of his blood in a roundabout way and so is Lyarra for that matter. The three of them are very much his children or else they are beginning to be.

“I don’t know. Do you? I mean you’re the one who’ll have to carry and birth them,” he says with a small smile in her direction. He had been in the birthing room when she had Lyarra and if he was a woman Lyarra would have been an only child.

She huffs out a laugh and answers, “Men don’t usually think like that. But yes, I think I do. I always wanted a sibling I could be closer to. It was lonely growing up, especially since Arya was much more interested in fighting than playing dolls. So, I think I want another girl. It would be good for Lyarra. I know she has Alys and Beth, but still I think I would enjoy having another daughter of my own. Though with you for a father the Seven Above know that she’ll probably be more like Arya than me,” she says with a gentle smile, “and I know that you want a boy. Besides, we don’t have a Brandon yet.”

“No, we don’t. You’re right though, I would like a boy, and a girl would be nice too,” he says softly, feeling warm at even having this talk, at hearing her say that he would be the father of her future children.

“It would be nice to have you there from the beginning,” she admits, and Jon agrees. It would be nice to be there for the pregnancy and toddler years.

Lyarra, Robb, and Rickon, are already their own people. Jon is far from a stranger in their lives, but he’s also only been here for small bits of it and only recently has he been able to think of them as his. He’s missed much and it would be wonderful to have more children to see from the beginning. To call him father. 

They lay in bed for a while longer, talking about small nothings, before Mya comes to wake them. 

++

Gawen Glover is the same as any other man really. He struggles to defer to authority, especially from women and he likes attention, also especially from women. But Jon doesn’t think he’s all that bad of a guy either, now that’s he’s gotten to know him better. He’s stupid, sure, but no matter how much female attention he gets he only ever partakes with his wife as he refuses to dishonor her, he pays his sentence fully and without complaint, and he goes out of his way to apologize to both Jon and Sansa personally even though he doesn’t have to. Plus, he offered to escort Sansa to dinner on a night when Jon was unable and while he knows she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect it was kind of him.

Jon doesn’t have many friends at Winterfell yet. Tormund writes from the far North and is coming to the feast as is required of a high noble, but he won’t be here long and can’t make it down more than once every few years, so Jon knows he won’t see him often. Sam is still in the south with Bran. He also writes but Jon hasn’t seen him in years. He had come to Moat Caitlin twice on his way to and from Winterfell with Bran on his one and only visit but that was five years ago, just after the boys were born. There’s little chance Jon will get to see him again any time soon either as he is not coming to the feast and Jon is not allowed South.

He has other friends, from Castle Black and Moat Caitlin alike but again they aren’t here and will not likely be here any time soon as they are not high nobles like Tormund now is. He wonders if maybe Gawen could step into that role. He’s here often enough.

“I gotta tell you, I like you a hell of a lot more than that Hardyng guy,” Gawen says as he dips his bread in his soup, proving to Jon that he really is stupid. Harry was a terrible person, but he was also the Prince Consort and is now dead besides. You don’t speak ill of the dead and you don’t speak ill of royalty. Especially to other royalty. Still this could prove useful.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Stupidest thing a man can do is dishonor his bride. My father wasn’t a great man but the one thing he taught me was that you never ever bring shame on your woman. She doesn’t have much choice in who she marries so you sure as shit don’t so anything to make it worse for her. Hardyng had whores all over the kingdom. He wasn’t discreet about it either. Obviously, I read into some of his reasons and made things worse for the Queen, but that don’t mean I agree with what he did.”

Jon doesn’t know if he can believe him or not. He’s got an earnest look on his face, and he cringed when he talked about the things he had said about Sansa, but he had said those things. He had even doubled down on those things in front of Sansa’s husband. Was that really all male bravado? Either way he doesn’t know why the man would lie and he does have a reputation of staying away from the betrothals, as had his father, so maybe he is being truthful. 

“It is a stupid thing to do,” he agrees, taking a drink of his ale, “Is that the only reason?”

“Isn’t that reason enough?” Gawen asks seriously.

“I wish I’d have punched the guy when I had the chance,” Jon admits.

“I did punch him once,” Gawen says with a smile, “He couldn’t do anything about it either cause if he had the Queen would have known he was in a whore house in Widow’s Watch.”

“What was he doing in Widow’s Watch?” Jon wonders.

“That I don’t know. But it felt good to hit him,” Gawen says, waving his ale in Jon’s direction. 

++

It hits him later, on his way to bed, that Widow’s Watch is within a day’s ride of Holt lands. 

Why had Harry been there to begin with? Had he encountered Wyman while he was there? Had something happened then to start this whole mess?

He needs to go to Sansa with this new information. He realizes that she would be able to give it a better time frame than Gawen who had said it was about a year ago, during the harvest festival which is what had taken Gawen there, and that she would remember where Wyman was at the time.

He’s rather lost in his own head, as he moves through the halls trying to decide if this new information is truly useful or not, and how to present it to Sansa who did not need to hear of yet another of her husband’s indiscretions. She already knew the truth of her marriage; telling her of this would just hurt her needlessly. 

He walks through the door without knocking as he has become accustomed to the past moon and a half only to walk in on what very well could be a dream. 

Sansa is wearing the silk shift that Myranda gave her. Her hands are running up and down her own body slowly and gently. One hand is near her breast and the other is between her thighs and going higher by the moment.

It doesn’t last long, long enough to fuel a dream or two, but not as long as he would like, before Sansa shrieks and pulls the furs over herself.

“Close the door!” She yells at him before she picks up one of her shoes from next to the bed and throws it at him. He dodges, barely, but shakes himself out of his stupor and does as she ordered.

“What was that?” He chokes out as his mouth is dry as it can be. It’s only now that she is covered, and he’s started to regulate his breathing that he notices the red tint to her face and the way her eyes are on the fire to his left instead of on him.

It isn’t bashful or teasing the way it would have been with Ygritte or Dany. It isn’t coy. She’s not just embarrassed. She’s mortified.

Jon knows of course what’s happened to her, most of what she’s been through. He knows all about that little shit Joffrey who liked to strip her naked and beat her in public. He knows about Petyr’s sick games and about the things Ramsey liked to do to her, sometimes in Robb’s bed even. He knows less about her sex life with Harry, but he does know it wasn’t pleasant. Not the way it should have been. 

He wonders if she’s ever done this before. Why has it never occurred to him that she may not have ever had an orgasm? Gods he wants to rectify that. 

“That was nothing. Just me being stupid. Please just forget it,” she begs steadily with tears in the corners of her eyes that make Jon want to punch someone.

“Sweetling it’s okay. Everyone does it. It’s perfectly natural to touch yourself,” he says gently, moving over to her slowly.

He’s just sat down on the bed next to her when she says, “But ladies aren’t supposed to…”

“Who told you that?” He interrupts.

“Septa Mordane,” she answers simply. It astounds Jon that even after being dead for fifteen years he can still find new things to hate about Catelyn Tully. 

“You’ve the fucking Queen in the North. Queen’s can do as they please and the North doesn’t follow the Seven anyhow. You said yourself that you follow the old gods now so why follow the ways of a Septa?” He questions. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” she mutters as she turns away from him.

“What wouldn’t I understand?” He demands as gently as he is able.

“Septa Mordane used to tell me that courtesy is a woman’s armor. Women don’t get boiled leather to protect us from the world, so we create it ourselves. We smile and use our pleasantries to stop fights before they start and to get the things we want and need, usually from men who give little thought to what we’re going through. All those years in Kings Landing and the Vale, all these years as Queen, I never would have survived them without the things Septa Mordane taught me. If I had been brash like a Stark is supposed to be, I would have been killed years ago,” she explains.

“So, what? You think that because she was right about everything else, she’s right about this too?” He asks, trying to put it together.

“Well it makes sense doesn’t it?” She snaps and Jon throws up his hands.

“I’m just saying that everyone is wrong about something. If she was right about everything else then this is what she was wrong about,” he reasons. 

Sansa rolls her eyes at him.

“What? It makes sense!” He protests.

“Just go away,” she commands as she throws herself down onto her back and throws her arm over her eyes.

“Hey! No, talk to me Sansa. I want to know. What’s really going on?”

She doesn’t speak for a long moment and Jon knows she’s waiting him out, but he isn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve never, you know, before…” she starts with her hand still over top of her face, confirming Jon’s suspicion.

“Alright.”

“I’ve never even wanted to. Not really. The way I felt about Joffrey wasn’t sexual. I was in awe I guess. I wanted to be his wife because of what it meant to be his wife. I would be a queen like in a song and have a fairytale life. But even though I wanted to have his babies I never thought about how they were made.”

“I would hope not. You were eleven,” he quips, and she sits up to face him so that she can smack him in the arm.

“There was no one after him. Not for a long time. I didn’t want Ramsey. I knew who he was and who his father was. I knew my duty, but I didn’t want him. I certainly didn’t want Petyr. None of the men from the Vale could even engage me in a conversation that I enjoyed and Harry…well. It was kind of like it was with Joffrey I suppose. I liked him and it made good political sense, but I didn’t really know what I was getting into.”

“Alright,” he encourages, still rubbing his arm. She definitely knew how to hit.

“I thought he was handsome, but I never wanted anything with him,” she explains.

“But you do with me?” He asks hopefully.

“Maybe. It’s all just so muddled you know? I don’t even know what these feelings are and it’s like they’re taking over my mind and my body and I have no idea what to do about them. Myranda suggested this. She said that it might help if I knew my own body better. It might make things clearer and maybe it would be less scary to let you touch me instead.”

Jon needs to buy Myranda a gift, he thinks.

“Sansa, there’s nothing wrong with what you feel. I’m your husband. You’re supposed to feel attraction towards me. I know that with Harry you did your duty but that isn’t what this is. We don’t need to. You have an heir already. When we sleep together it’ll be because we both want to and there is nothing wrong with us wanting to,” he responds, “It’s completely natural.”

She nods in return, but Jon isn’t convinced that she believes him.

“You know, it’s actually pretty hot,” he states as he lays down, pulls her with him. 

“What?” she shrieks, her face growing red again. This time in embarrassment.

“The thought of the most beautiful woman in the world, who I just so happen to be married to, touching herself while thinking of me? Touching herself in the bed I sleep in? Seven hells Sansa, I’m going to have to touch myself while I think about it.”

He nearly considers turning on to his side, letting her feel exactly what she has done to him, but knows instinctively that she isn’t ready for that and that it would only terrify her. 

She blushes and moves over to lay her head on his chest, her knees curling away from his body, and says, “I could help you with that if you wanted.”

Her hand starts to slide down and Jon groans. He wants to lay there and let her do the work, let her hand bring him to peak, but there is a voice in his head telling him that it is a bad, Bad, BAD idea to let this continue. So, he puts his hand atop hers and says, “Not tonight. There are a few things we need to talk about actually. Did you know that Harry was in Widow’s Watch for the harvest festival last year?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...I know it's been a while. Time flies when you're painting and unpacking and starting a new job. Sorry. But I hope to keep up at least once a week until we reach our conclusion which I still believe will be soonish. Thanks for reading guys! Let me know what you think.


	14. Sansa VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags. There is mild smut like stuff to be found here.

Sansa doesn’t have a great deal of memories involving Jon as a child. Most of the things she does remember are small and related mainly to others; the way he toted Bran around as a babe, how he smiled at Arya, and the tone of his voice when he argued with Theon and Robb stick out to her. In a very real way though, the first true memory she has of him is the way he ran to her at Castle Black, the way he took her into his arms and lifted her from the ground as though he were lifting the burdens straight from her back. 

She loves him for that. 

That Jon, the one that reluctantly built an army and fought a war for her was not the same Jon she remembers from childhood, and this Jon, the one in front of her now, is not the same one she saw be named King in the North so many years ago either. 

The Jon who was named King had nothing; his brothers had betrayed him, and his family was long dead. She, Sansa, a sister he never truly knew who had left home to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms without even saying goodbye to him was the only person he had in the entire world.

He fought for her because she needed him to. And once he had Winterfell, he had no idea what to do with it other than to keep fighting. 

She’s often wondered if maybe the times were different, if there hadn’t been two more wars at their door, if Jon would have come into his own eventually. Over the years she’s gone back and forth on the idea mainly, she admits, on the basis of her feelings about Jon in any particular moment. In her less than charitable thoughts she has told herself that Jon never would have been happy, that it would have taken him too long to get things together before winter hit, that things worked better this way. 

He never had a head for politics, after all, not even Northern politics. 

Now, though, she can see that it was her more kind thoughts that would have come to fruition. He’s learned to handle himself. He’s put a great deal of thought into the details of their coming feast, even asking questions about those whom he has not come into contact within the past decade so that he does not accidently offend anyone. 

He joins her in the courtyard to welcome their visitors, speaks politely but truthfully in the way Northmen respect above all, and is careful to listen to each of the complaints lodged at him and each of the suggestions sent his way. 

He spends more and more time in the training yard as the castle fills up, often inviting her along either to watch or to train herself and Sansa can see that this is a political move as big as any. Jon wants the banners to see him fighting, to remember the things he’s done for them, and so when or if the time comes, they will follow him into battle. He also wants them to see that Sansa can fight for herself, not on his level perhaps, but well enough. 

It’s wonderful strategy really. One of the biggest obstacles she has faced as Queen is her lack of fighting ability, something that her people appreciate above just about everything else, though the fact that she had won them their independence without bloodshed was not something they took lightly either. So, the bannermen seeing her in the yard training amongst them brings a certain amount of respect.

Sansa isn’t stupid though she knows that Jon is not thinking about this is the same way she is. He isn’t looking at the big picture, at how their people view them in the long term. This is not something he is pushing for because it will make their lives easier in ten years. 

He’s pushing this strategy because he wants someone to report back to Holt, and because he wants to stop any one from attacking her because they think her weak. 

That is, perhaps, the main reason she goes along with it. She isn’t afraid of physical pain, or of being attacked, she can take it. She is afraid though, of what something happening to her and Jon means for her babes. Anyone could use them to lay claim to the kingdom long before Bran could send an envoy, or Arya could return home. She has no disillusions, she fully realizes that chances are she will not die of old age, but she must live until her children are of age so that no one can do to them what they did to herself and her siblings. 

If this helps with that goal, then she will do whatever is necessary.

Jon smiles at her from across the training yard, waving before he wipes sweat from his brow. He’s speaking to Lord Moss, joking half-heartedly, before he moves in her direction. When he reaches her, he places a simple kiss to her cheek, putting his right hand to her left cheek and rubbing his thumb over it. It is perfectly innocent, but it makes her blush all the same. From Jon’s knowing smirk she thinks he did it on purpose. 

“Shall I escort you inside your Grace? If you are finished training for the day?” He asks, holding his arm out for her to take.

Once they have reached their chambers Sansa moves behind her screen to change and Jon changes on the bed.

“Well, have you learned anything?” She questions.

“Aside from the fact that our people truly hated Hardyng? And that they truly love you?” He questions in return, making her snort, “Hey, now I’m being serious. They all speak of how he was a terrible husband, and none go so far but one could get the impression that they are happy he is no longer around.”

“Of course, they hated him. He dishonored his wife and Northmen take vows very seriously. Did you get anything useful?” She presses.

“Lord Flint says that there were a few incidents during the harvest festival last year, but nothing serious was brought to his attention. He does say that there were a few fights outside the brothel and that Harry was seen in the area,” he says, his voice getting softer as he speaks. 

She rolls her eyes from behind the screen. Honestly, she appreciates that he is trying to protect her, but she knew her husband and the fact that he visited a brothel is not surprising. It certainly isn’t going to break her. 

“Is that all?” 

“That I could get out of him anyhow. Lord Locke had some interesting information though. He says that Wyman has been through several times in the past few years, and that he always stays in the night at the Inn. Well, the last time he came through, six moons ago give or take, he got roaring drunk and started saying what as idiot Hardyng was. Locke says he doesn’t know exactly what happened or what was said, only that the Innkeeper brought Wyman to him saying that he was sprouting treason. Locke likes him so he let him sober up, questioned him the next morning, and let him go. He says that Wyman was so drunk that he was slurring and barely able to stand and that the Innkeeper wouldn’t tell him exactly what he was talking about.”

“That still should have been brought to my attention,” she states. 

“I agree and I said as much. Locke knows he made a mistake and you will be dealing with him soon,” Jon soothes, “But did anything happen six moons ago? Where was Wyman supposed to be?”

She finishes pulling her nightrail on, a rather ugly thing that does little for her other than keep her warm and walks out into the room to find Jon sitting on the bed in nothing but his small clothes.

She wills herself to look away, not to let him see the blush on her cheeks, but the smug look he wears tells her she was not successful. She pulls at the cloth covering her to try and make it swallow her up, but Jon still looks at her with that smug smile and hooded eyes.

“Well, that was two moons before Harry took Lyarra to White Harbor. So, he should have been meeting with the Sistermen,” she thinks aloud.

“Well, at least he was in the right area. Why was he meeting with the Sistermen?”

“He had this crazy idea about building a navy. I indulged him a bit, it is a good idea, but ultimately we just don’t have the men or the food to pull it off right now. He was meeting with the Sistermen to try and see what, if any, insight they could give in the venture.”

“Was that one of his other big ideas?” Jon asks, looking as though he has figured something out.

“Yes. As I said, he had several. I allowed him to implement a few of the smaller ones but the idea of a trained kingdom wide army or a navy was just too much right now,” she states, starting to see what her husband is thinking. Wyman is a man, a Northern man, which means he is proud and a woman, even the Queen, shutting down not one of two of his ideas? Well, that could be a blow to the ego.

“But he took it in stride, he never wavered. He argued of course, all Northmen argue, but he seemed to let it go well enough,” she answers weakly.

“Or he decided to hurt you back,” Jon says tightly. She can see the tension on his shoulders and in his eyes. He’s angry and trying not to show it. 

His fists begin to curl in on themselves and Sansa knows she has to do something to change the direction this conversation has taken and the best way she knows to do that is to jump back in.

“Let’s say that Wyman is angry at me, that explains why he started this but why did he use Harry? He knew the truth of our marriage.”

Which is when it hits her. The look on Yara’s face when she saw Sansa, that look of utter glee when she suggested that Sansa marry Jon. The way she acted about the idea of marriage, almost like she had had a plan before even seeing her. 

“Wyman wanted to marry me,” She states, knowing completely that this is the truth.

“What?” Jon stares at her and she knows she must keep talking.

“Wyman knew I would never let Lyarra be hurt. He knew I would send someone straight away, without a well thought out plan to try and save her. He was working with the Ironborn, but not with Harry. He thought I trusted him enough to send him to save her. He planned on being in your place.”

“But then I showed up early and of course you trusted me more, and so you sent me to save her and had Wyman organize a larger approach,” Jon surmises.

A thousand small moments run through her head as she tries to remember each interaction she has had with the man.

“He asked me once, about a year ago, why I married Harry and why I didn’t ship him off the Wall to be rid of him and I told him the truth,” she whispers, “Seven hells I’m such an idiot. I know better than that!”

“What did you tell him Sansa?” Jon asks, putting his hand on her face to force her to look at him.

“The truth. I told him that I was afraid that if I had a Northman for a husband that the banners would eventually push me aside for him. As long as I was married to Harry my reign was protected.”

“So, he thought that by having Yara force you to marry him he would be able to take control and do whatever he wanted,” Jon says softly, like he’s trying not to hurt her.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I know better,” she insists.

“Why did you?” He asks, his hand still on her face.

“Saffron had just shown up at the gates, heavy with Harry’s child and needing a place to go as her father had just died and her brother put her out. I got drunk with Mya and Myranda in Myranda’s chamber that night. He found me as I was walking back to my rooms. He offered to escort me, and I didn’t see the harm.”

There is a look in Jon’s eyes at her words, sadness maybe compassion, but also anger and hurt. She thinks perhaps he is angry at her or hurt because of something she did but then he leans his forehead against hers and breathes in deeply. 

“I wish I could run through every person who hurt you or tried to use you,” he says with his eyes closed.

She needs to say something, to do something before this conversation goes completely haywire but she knows that what she wants to say will just makes things worse; that she is stupid, a stupid little girl who knows nothing, and that she should have known what Wyman was really after because after all, even as Queen regnant, what is she but a key to power, a hole to be fucked into so that a man might have powerful babes someday?

So she stays quiet instead as Jon moves his arms around her, as he pulls her into his chest and just holds her. She’s never had this before, this sort of intimacy. When Joffrey touched her it was to hurt her, when Ramsey touched her it was to torture her, when Petyr touched her it was to manipulate her, and when Harry touched her it was to use her. It’s been so long since a man has touched her without expectation or ill intent and she doesn’t really know how to react. 

Mya told just yesterday that she’ll never truly know what Jon wants unless she asks so she asks, “What do you want from me?”

Jon pulls back a bit, startled, but smiles and says, “a better question is what do you want from me? Sansa I’ll give you anything you want. All you have to do is say you want it.”

It’s so frustrating that he won’t just tell her what to do. No matter Harry’s other problems she never questioned his desires because he said them plain. She never had to decide which was a blessing because she had no idea what she wanted anyhow. She still doesn’t.

Jon looks at her for a long moment before he places his forehead against hers again and asks, “Are you all muddled up again?”

It takes her moment to realize what he’s speaking about, before she remembers their conversation a few nights ago and nods shyly.

“Alright then,” he seems to make a decision and pulls away from her to say, “Why don’t you lay down?”

She does even though it confuses her.

“Is it okay for me to touch you?” He asks, laying down next to her side.

“Yes,” she says with a hitch in her voice.

“You have all the power here Sansa. If you want me to stop just say so. I won’t be upset and I’ll either move away or just hold you all night.”

She nods hesitantly as his hand moves to her stomach.

“Would it help if I say what I’m doing?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Alright, then I’m going to put my hand on your side and then I’m going to move to your breasts.”

Little tingles move through her body like fire wrapping around her as Jon’s hand squeezes her and rubs her nipple until it hardens even through her thick gown. 

“Now I’m going to move now. I’m going to go down your side and out my hand on your thigh.”

His voice in her ear spurs her on, keeps that wonderful tingle going as his hand moves down her left side onto her thigh, making circles as he moves down her leg and back up. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. You don’t have to touch me back, but you can if you want too.”

His mouth on hers lights her blood on fire, as his hands move up, down, and around. She can feel his arousal at her side even though he is trying to hold it away from her and it doesn’t make her feel powerless like it used to. 

His hand moves to her ass and grips it. It’s hot and heavy and unlike anything she’s ever felt before, but she pulls away from his kiss to say, “stop,” anyhow, mostly so she can know that he will.

He does, he moves away from her completely, looking concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want my turn.”

He’s as flushed as she is when he nods and lays on his back.

She moves to sit astride him, one leg on either side of his. She feels powerful as she runs her hands over his chest, his scars, and his nipples down to his belly and then his thighs. He’s strong beneath her, solid and powerful but completely at her command.

She leans down to kiss him, putting her mouth over his, and moving her hips back and forth over him. She’s reaching for something though she doesn’t know what. His cock sits at the apex of her thighs, rubbing against her in a way that seems to help but she just can’t get there.

Jon pulls away slightly to ask, “Can I touch you? Can I put my hand under your nightrail?”

She nods without thinking as the pressure continues to build. Jon’s hands move to her legs, lifting her dress inch by inch even while his mouth goes back to kissing her. Then his hand is there, over her small clothes and he pulls away again to ask, “Over your clothes or on your skin sweet girl?”

She nearly says over the clothes because she doesn’t know if she’s ready for more, but it already feels so good that she can’t imagine what it would feel like on the skin.

“Touch me Jon.”

Suddenly his hands are there, on her, moving and rubbing and then there is a white-hot flash in front of her and it feels like all the air has left her body. It’s the best she’s ever felt, and she says so. Jon laughs but keeps moving his fingers until she squirms away as it becomes too much. Without really thinking about it she reaches out to put her hand down Jon’s small clothes and is already moving her hand up and down his shaft while he chokes out, “You don’t have to do that.”

It doesn’t take long, ten or twelve strokes, before she feels his release on her hand and pulls away to wipe it on her nightrail, which she then takes off and slings across the room, reveling in that daring feeling that has overcome her. 

Jon groans loudly when he sees her chest for the first time and says, “Mercy. Have mercy woman.”

She giggles at the words and leans in to press herself against his side, unable and unwilling to push down the giddy feeling racing through her body.

“That was amazing. When can we do that again?” She asks, pressing her face into his neck so she feels rather than sees his silent laughter.

“Well I can’t go again for a while. But I can help you if you’d like,” he offers with a proud look on his face that reminds her of Myranda after she wins an argument or Robb after he kissed Jayne Poole behind the kitchens. 

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Is this what Myranda chases after? Is this what Cersei was talking about? She feels wonderful. She feels powerful. 

She looks down at her husband, his eyes shining in a way she’s never seen before and says, “I think I might be in love with you.”


End file.
